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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



iff O-^ i«ui 



QUOTATIONS 



Select Stories 



OPENING EXERCISES 



IS SCHOOLS. 



COMPILED BY 

GEORGE F. BASS, 

Supervising Principal, Indianapolis Public Schools. 



INDIANAPOLIS: 

CABLON A HOLLENBECK, PRINTERS. 
1887. 









Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the Librarian's Office at Wash- 

ington, D. C, 1S87, 

By GEORGE F. BASS. 



PRO CONFESSO. 

Whoso writes delightful story, 

True and touching, full of lore. 
Shall in human nature's longing 

Hold a place for evermore. 

All the docks and mossy harbors, 
Where the sea-ships come and go, 

Still rehearse that spell and pleasing 
Of the pages of Defoe. 

Eldorado?— still we wonder, 

Can there any island lie 
In the west of life's attaining 

Where our prime might never die? 

Still in secret depths of feeling 

We escape Time's onward span ; 
For the youth's remote transfusion 

Stirs the pulses of the man. 

— George Wentz, in Open Court 



(3) 



CONTENTS. 



Pages. 

CHAPT. , '. 7-31 

I- T-^' ■ 32-55 

«• Honesty • gg_^3 

III. Benevolence ^^^^ 

VI. Courage and Bravery 

V- «^^°''" ■ . ■ . ' m-144 

VI. Politeness . • • * * 

VII Be-ard for Parents and the Aged . • • 1^^^ 

^^^- ° . 161-172 

VIIL True Worth ...••' ^^^_^^^ 

IX. Promptness ' ^^^_^^^ 

X. Kindness ..••*' 

. 204-219 

XI Contentment 

. . 220-222 

XII. Obedience 

■ . . 223-234 

XIII. Animals 

235-256 

XIV. Miscellaneous 



(4) 



PREFACE. 



" Where can I get suitable selections to read as a 
part of ray opening exercise ? '' 

This question has been asked by many teachers. 
Attempts to answer it suggested the preparation of 
this little book. 

Froebel says : ^' The story brings forward other 
people, other relations, other times and places, other 
and quite diiferent forms; notwithstanding this fact 
the auditor seeks his own image, he sees it, yet no- 
body can say to him, ^it is your own image.' ^^ 

Much care has been taken to select such stories as 
will show the pupil his better self and impress him 
with it. 

Stories that suggest the bad have been left out of 
this book. They are believed to be harmful, because 
they often suggest the doing of bad things the boy 
never would have thought of had he not read it in 
the story. 

It is thought best to present these stories and selec- 
tions without remarks from the compiler. 

A teacher may, with profit, make each selection the 
basis of an informal talk idth the pupils, not at them. 

There has been no attempt made to grade the 
selections, as most of them, with a slight modification, 
that any teacher can make, may be used in any grade. 



6 PREFACE. 

The selections are taken largely from newspapers. 
Whenever the author or paper from which they were 
taken is known to the compiler, proper credit is given. 

This little book is submitted to the teachers with 
the hope that it may be of some assistance to them 
in their great work. 

Indianapolis, Ind., June 16, 1887. 



(Sluotations anb Stories 

FOU 

OPENING EXERCISES IN SCHOOLS. 



CHAPTER I. 

TRUST. 

The following selections show a faith in God and 
His creatures. One great lesson that may be impressed 
by them is, that " God helps those who help them- 
selves." It is the lesson of work with an abidinor 
iliith in God's eternal laws. ^^ Faith without works 
is dead." 



"Not as I will, but as ikou wi7^"— Mat. xxvi, 39. 

NOT AS I WILL. 

Blindfolded and alone I stand, 
With unknown thresholds on each hand ; 
The darkness deepens as I grope, 
Afraid to fear, afraid to hope; 
Yet this one thing I learn to know, 
Each day more surely as I go — 
That doors are opened, ways are made, 
Burdens are lifted or are laid, 
By some great law unseen and still, 
Unfathomed purpose to fulfill, 
" Not as I will." 
(7) 



TRUST. 

Blindfolded and alone I wait, 
Loss seems too bitter, gain too late ; 
Too heavy burdens in the load, 
And too few helpers on the road ; 
And joy is weak and grief is strong, 
And years and days so long, so long, 
Yet this one thing I learn to know, 
Each day more surely as I go — 
That I am glad the good and ill 
By changeless law are ordered still, 
" Not as I will." 

" Not as I will ! " — the sound grows sweet 

Each time my lips the words repeat, 
'' Not as I will ! " The darkness feels 

More safe than light when this thought steals 

Like whispered voice to calm and bless 

All unrest and all loneliness. 
" Not as I will," because the One 

Who loved us first and best has gone 

Before us on the road, and still 

For us must all His love fulfill — 

" Not as we will." Helen Hunt Jackson. 



WILLING TO SHOVEL. 

To be willing to begin at the bottom is the open 
secret of being able to come out at the top. A few 
years ago, a young man came to this country to take 
a position in a new enterprise in the Southwest. He 
was well bred, well educated ; and he had the tastes 
of his birth and education. He reached the scene of 
his proposed labors, and found, to his dismay, that the 
enterprise was already bankrupt, and that he was pen- 
niless, homeless and friendless in a strange land. He 
worked his way back to New York, and in midwinter 



Til U.ST. 9" 

found himself without money or friends, in the great 
busy metropolis. He did not stop to measure the ob- 
stacles in his path; he simply set out to find work. 
lie would have preferred the pen, but he was willing 
to take the shovel ; and the shovel it was to be. 

Passing down Fourth Avenue on a snowy morning, 
he found a crowd of men at work shoveling snow from 
the sidewalk about a well-known locality. He ap- 
plied for a position in their ranks, got it, and went to 
work with a hearty good-will, as if shoveling were his 
vocation. Not long after, one of the owners of the 
property, a many-millionaire, passed along the street, 
saw the young man's face, was struck by its intelli- 
gence, and wondered what had brought him to such a 
pass. A day or two later, his business took him to 
the same locality again, and brought him face to face 
with the same man, still shoveling snow. He stopped, 
spoke to him, received a prompt and courteous an- 
swer, talked a few minutes for the sake of getting a 
few facts about his history, and then asked the young 
man to call at his office. That night the shovel era 
ended; and the next day, at the appointed time, the 
young man was closeted with the millionaire. In one 
of the latter's many enterprises there was a vacant 
place, and the young man who was willing to shovel 
got it. It was a small place, at a small salary; but he 
more than filled it. He filled it so well, indeed, that 
in a few months he was promoted ; and, at the end of 
three years, he was at the head of the enterprise, at a 
large salary. He is there to-day, with the certainty 
that, if he lives, he will eventually fill a position sec- 



10 TRUST. 

ond in importance to none in the field in which he is 
working. The story is all told in three words — willing 
to shovel. — Christian Union. 

Let us all work with a willingness to do that which 
lies nearest us, trusting that if we are deserving we 
will eventually be appreciated. There are many un- 
pleasant things to be done — must be done. Let no one 
shrink from them. " Learn to labor and to wait." 



" Though He slay me, yet loill I trust in Himy — Job xiii, 15. 

TRUST. 

[A lady who is an invalid wrote as follows : "I have a little poem Avhich 
J lepeated at Sabbath-school when I was five years old, which is as good to 
me now that I am an invalid of fifty- five; and I wish to send it to you." 
The poem, though simple in style, is good in spirit, and illustrates the 
Talue of teaching early to children lessons of hope and trust which may 
ielp them in coming years.] 

My little girl the other day 

(Three years of age a month ago) 
Wounded her finger while at play, 

And saw the crimson current flow. 
With pleading optics, raining tears. 

She sought my aid in terror wild. 
I smiling said, " Dismiss your fears, 

For all will soon be well, my child." 
Her little bosom ceased to swell ; 

While she replied, with calmer brow, 
" I know that you can make it well ; 

But hmo, papa? I don't see how." 
Our children oft entreat us thus 

For succor or for recompense. 
They look with confidence to us. 

As we should look to Providence. 



TRUST. 11 

And each infantile doulit and fear, 

And every little ciiildish s^rief, 
Is uttered to a parent's ear 

With full assurance of relief. 
And shall I doubtingly repine 

When clouds of dark allliction lower? 
A tender Father still is mine, 

With greater mercy, love, and power. 
He clothes the lily, feeds the dove, 

The smallest insect feels His cure; 
And shall not man confess His love — 

Man, His offspring and His heir? 
Yes, "though He slay," I'll trust Him still, 

And still with resignation bow. 
He may relieve: He can. He will. 

Although we can not yet see how. 

'^Sister Mcuy," Christian Register. 



THERE'S A SILVER LINING TO EVERY CLOUD. 

S'ad are the sorrows that often times come, 
Heavy and dull, and blighting and chill. 
Shutting the light from our heart and our home, 
Marring our hopes and defying our will ; 
But let us not sink beneath the woe, 
'Tis well, perchance, we are tired and bowed. 
For be sure, though we may not oft see it below, 
"There's a silver lining to every cloud." Eliza Cook. 



I CAN AND I WILL 



I knew a boy who was preparing to enter the junior 
class of the New York University. He was studying 
trigonometry, and I gave him three examples for his 
next lesson. 



12 TRUST. 

The following day he came into ray room to demon- 
strate his problems. Two of them he understood^ but 
the third — a very difficult one — he had not performed. 
I said to him, '' Shall I help you ? " 

" Xo, sir ! I can and will do it, if you give me time.^' 
I said, " I will give you all the time you wish.^' 
The next day he came into my room to recite a les- 
son in the same study. 

^' Well, Simon, have you worked that example ? '' 
"No, sir,^^ he answered; "but I can and will do it, 
if you will give me a little more time.'' 

" Certainly, you shall have all the time you desire." 
I always like those boys who are determined to do 
their own work, for they make our best scholars, and 
men, too. The third morning you should have seen 
Simon enter my room. I knew he had it, for his 
whole face told the story of his success. 

Yes, he had it, notv\^ithstanding it had cost him 
many hours of the severest mental labor. 

Not only had he solved the problem, but, what was 
of infinitely greater importance to him, he had begun 
to develop mathematical powers which, under the in- 
spiration of " I can and I will,'' he has continued to 
cultivate, until to-day he is professor of mathematics in 
one of our largest colleges, and one of the ablest mathe- 
maticians of his years in our country. — Evangelist. 

Some people are afraid to trust their own powers. 
A confidence in self is the first element of success. 

" Where there is a will there is a way." If there 
is not, the person who has the will will very soon make 
a way. Nothing does one more good than to know 



TRUST. 13 

that by his own efforts he has made a success. Such 
a person will grow stronger and stronger. 



"PAPA IS DRIVING." 

I arrived at the station at the appointed hour. I 
entered or rather was thrown by an attendant into the 
car nearest to me. The door was quickly shut. The 
whistle was blown, and we were off. I formed the 
fifth passenger. Two of the corners were occupied, 
one by an officer, and the other by a civilian. Facing 
me was a woman, about thirty years old, and neatly 
and modestly dressed, and beside her sat the most 
beautiful little child I ever saw — a little girl about 
six years old, with a flood of blonde curls waving 
under her immense straw hat. Now and then the 
child would look through the windows in the direc- 
tion of the engine, and then her eyes seemed to wan- 
der in the infinite space that was unrolling itself before 
her. ^ye came to a station. The train stopped. The 
little girl put her face to the window ^' I don^t see 
him,'' she said to the lady beside her. " I don't see 
him." Then suddenly her face brightened and her 
eyes lit with golden hues, shining with indescribal)le 
joy, while her lips came down upon two hands that 
came from the exterior and were placed upon the frame 
of the opened window. "Ah, papa ! Here is papa ! " 
exclaimed my little neighbor, with the exuberant and 
innocent joy of her six years. 

It was the engineer of our train, w4io had come to 



14 TRUST. 

speak to his little daughter and his wife, who were 
seated in front of me. 

^' We are going very fast/^ said the woman. 

"We must make up for lost time/' replied the man. 
" Were you afraid, Jennie ? ^^ 

" No/' said the child, ^' because I knew you were 
driving.^^ 

" Well, by-bye," said the man, as he left. 

"By-bye, papa," said the child, throwing herself 
into his arms. 

The train started, and gradually reached an extra- 
ordinary speed. I worship children, and began to 
examine the little one in front of me. She was full 
of life and good humor. She amused herself with 
everything and nothing, cajoling with her mother, in- 
quisitive with the window, severe with the doll. She 
was carrying on a thousand conversations all at once, 
and with a noise that was almost deafening, when, sud- 
denly, the gentleman in the other corner exclaimed: 

" Decidedly, we are going too fast. The train will 
surely run off the track." 

"Oh, don^t be afraid," said the child, seriously, 
" papa is driving." 

The officer was reading. He looked out of the 
window, and then resumed his reading without mak- 
ing any observation. 

The other gentleman again began to talk. 

" This is certainly madness," said he. 

" Yes, madam/' he continued, addressing the lady, 
"your husband is either drunk or crazy." 

" Oh, sir," said the lady, " my husband never gets 



TRUST. 15 

drunk. You saw him a little while ago. Certainly, 
the train is going at a furious rate. I don't quite 
understand it." 

The officer closed his book, and stretched liimself 
along the seat. " I would advise you to do the same," 
he said, with the utmost coolness. "If you keep 
seated, your legs will be smashed. Remember the 
Versailles accident." 

Certainly, the train was running at a terrifying rate. 
What in the world could the engineer mean by such 
driving? 

" I am afraid," said the man, white with terror. 

Then the officer took me aside. " Here is my name 
and address," said he, " if I am killed or mortally 
wounded in the accident to which we are running, and 
you escape, promise me now that you will carry these 
dispatches without a moment's delay to the general 
whose name you will find by opening this envelope." 
I promised. 

The woman took the little child in her arms and 
covered her face with tears and kisses. She seemed 
to wish to make a rampart of herself to protect the 
little one against the frightful smash-up that was 
momentarily expected. 

" I am not afraid," said the child, smiling ; " papa is 
driving." And she alone among the passengers of the 
car, and doubtless she alone among all on board of 
the train, had faith and confidence. We could hear 
in the other cars cries of terror and wailings of despair ; 
and, in spite of the mother, the child leaned as far as 
l)ossible out of the window in the back door, and 



16 TRUST, 

shouted out, with all the force of her lungs, " Don't 
be afraid ; papa is driving ! ^' Ah, that sweet little 
girl, in the general terror, was a tower of strength 
with that sacred love of a child for a father — an affec- 
tion that nothing can break down. 

Gradually, the train slowed, and came to a stand- 
still. We were at a station. The engineer came to 
the door. " We have been going very fast/' said he ; 
" but, at all hazards, we must get to Reims before the 
Prussians. That we must do at the risk of being 
blown up or smashed to pieces on the way. I'm told 
we are carrying important dispatches." And he looked 
at his little girl with tears in his eyes. 

" Give me your hand," said the officer ; " you are a 
brave fellow. It is I who have the dispatches." " En 
route / " then said the man ; and he gave a parting 
glance at the fair form of his child, as if to bid her 
farewell. But Jennie was not afraid, and, moreover, 
nobody in our compartment was afraid any longer. 
We knew that we were risking our lives for our 
■country, and that satisfied us. As for the train, it 
recommenced its furious race. 

This was in the month of September, 1879, on the 
Eastern line. — From the French. 



" Dear God, I am so weary of it all." 
WEARINESS. 

"Weary of each day's doing from rising to set of sun ? 

Weary of so much doing and seeing so little done? 

Are deeds so great in the dreaming, so small in the doing found ? 

And all life's earnest endeavors only with failure crowned ? 



TRTST. 17 

You look to the sky at evening, and out of the depths of blue 
A little star, you call it, is glimmering faintly through. 
Little! He sees, who looks from His throne in tiie highest place, 
A great world circling grandly the limitless realms of space. 

So with your life's deep purpose, set in His mighty plan, 
Out of the dark you see it, looking with human scan. 
Little and weak you call it. lie from His throne may see 
Issues that move on grandly into eternity. 

Sow the good seed, and already the harvest may be won. 
The deed is great in the doing that God calls good when done. 
'Tis as great, perhaps, to be noble as noble things to do ; 
And the world of men is better if one man grows more true. 

Let us be strong in the doing, for that is ours alone ; 

The meaning and end are His, and He will care for His own. 

And, if it seems to us little, remem1)er that from afar 

He looks into a world where we but glance at a star. 

Christian Register. 



^^In my father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would 
have told you. I go to prepare a place for you." — John xiv, 2. 

THE GATE OF THE PALACE. 

BY REV. M. J. SAVAGE. 

[Written for the dedication services of the Mortuary Chapel at Forest Hill 
Cemetery, May 9, 1885.] 

Is this the gateway of the dead, 

Tiie portal of the land of gloom. 
Wherein the Silent City lies 

Whose streets are pathways to the tomb? 

And as each white face passes through 
And takes its downward, shadowy way, 

Is it to say good-by to love, 

A farewell to the gladsome dav? 



18 TRUST. 

Is this slow music that I hear 
From yonder organ-loft the sweep 

Of solemn tones that mark the tread 
Of shades that march to endless sleep ? 

Nay, nay, we will not have it so ! 

The heart proclaims a nobler trust; 
This gateway on the road all tread 

Ends in no silent house of dust. 

The grave is but a robing-room 
Where servant angels to us bring, 

For outworn garments there laid by. 
Fit robes wherein to meet the King ! 

His antechamber this, where we. 
Like all the loved and lost before. 

Must wait until His high command 
For us swings wide the Palace door! 



A BOY WHO BECAME FAMOUS. 

A boy, only six years old, was sailing with his 
father down the Danube. All day long they had been 
sailing past crumbling ruins, frowning castles, clois- 
ters hidden away among the crags, towering cliffs, 
quiet villages nestled in sunny valleys, and here and 
there a deep gorge that opened back from the gliding 
river, its hollow distance blue with fathomless shadow, 
and its loneliness and stillness stirring the boy's heart 
like some dim and vast cathedral. They stopped at 
night at a cloister, and the father took little Wolfgang 
into the chapel to see the organ. It was the first 
large organ he had ever seen, and his face lit up with 
delight, and every motion and attitude of his figure 
expressed a wondering reverence. 



TRUST. 19 

" Father/' said the boy, '^ let me play.'' Well 
pleased, the father complied. Then Wolfgang pushed 
aside the stool, and, when his father had filled the 
great bellows, the elfin organist stood upon the pedals. 
How the deep tones woke the somber stillness of the 
old church! The organ seemed some great, uncouth 
creature, roaring for very joy at the caresses of the 
marvelous child. 

The monks, eating their supper in the refectory^ 
heard it, and dropped knife and fork in astonishment. 
The organist of the brotherhood was among them, but 
never had he played with such power. They list- 
ened ; some crossed themselves, till the prior rose up 
and hastened into the chapel. The others followed ; 
but when they looked up into the organ-loft, lo I 
there was no organist to be seen, though the deep 
tones still massed themselves in new harmonies, and 
made the stone arches thrill with their power. " It 
is the devil !" cried one of the monks, drawing closer 
to his companions, and giving a scared look over his 
shoulder at the darkness of the aisle. " It is a mira- 
cle !" said another. But when the boldest of them 
mounted the stairs to the organ-loft, he stood as if 
petrified with amazement. There was the tiny figure 
treading from pedal to pedal, and at the same time 
clutching at the keys above with his little hands, 
gathering handfuls of those wonderful chords as if 
they were violets, and flinging them out into the sol- 
emn gloom behind him. He heard nothing, saw 
nothing, besides ; his eyes beamed, and his whole face 
lighted up with impassioned joy. Louder and fuller 



20 TRUST. 

rose the harmonies, streaming forth in swelling bil- 
lows, till at last they seemed to reach a sunny shore, 
on which they broke ; and then a whispering ripple 
of faintest melody lingered a moment in the air, like 
the last murmur of a wind harp, and all was still. 

The boy was John Wolfgang Mozart. — Christian 
Intelligencer. 



THE BLIND SPINNER. 

Like a blind spinner in the sun 

I tread my days ; 
I know that all the threads will run 

Appointed ways ; 
I know each day will bring its task, 
And, being blind, no more I ask. 

I do not know the use or name 

Of that I spin ; 
I only know that some one came 

And laid within 
My hand the thread, and said, " Since you 
Are blind, but one thing you can do." 

Sometimes the threads so rough and fast 

And tangled fly, 
I know wild storms are sweeping past, 

And fear that I 
Shall fall, but dare not try to find 
A safer place, since I am blind. 

I know not why, but I am sure 

That tint and place. 
In some great fabric to endure 

Past time and race, 
My threads will have : so, from the first, 
Though blind, I never felt accursed. 



TRUST. 21 

I think, perhaps, this trust has sprung 

From one sliort word 
Said over rae when I was young — 

So young, I heard 
It, knowing not that God's name signed 
My brow, and sealed me His, tliougli blind. 

But whether this be seal or sign, 

Within, without. 
It matters not. Tlie bond divine 

I never doubt. 
I know He set me here, and still 
And glad and blind I wait His will, 

But listen, listen, day by day, 

To hear their tread 
Who bear the finished web away, 

And cut the thread. 
And bring God's message in the sun — 
" Thou poor blind spinner, work is done." 
■Christian Reguter. H. H. 



" What IS worth doing atoll is worth doing well." 
LITTLE BY LITTLE. 

" Little by little," an acorn said, 

As it slowly sank in its mossy be4; 
" I am improving every day. 

Hidden deep in the earth away." 

Little by little each day it grew, 

Little by little it sipped the dew ; 

Downward it sent out a thread-like root. 

Up in the air sprung a tiny shoot. 

Day after day, and year after year, 

Little by little the leaves appear; 

And the slender branches spread far and wide, 

Till the mighty oak is the forest's pride. 



22 TRUST. 

" Little by little," said a thoughtful boy, 
"Moment by moment I'll well employ, 
Learning a little every day, 
And not spending all my time in play; 
And still this rule in my mind shall dwell — 
'Whatever I do, I'll do it well.' 
Little by little I'll learn to know 
The treasured wisdom of long ago ; 
And one of these days, perhaps, we'll see 
That the world will be the better for me." 
And do you not think that this simple plan 
Made him a wise and useful man ? 

New Zealand Church News. 



ONE BY ONE. 



One by one the sands are flowing, 

One by one the moments fall ; 
Some are coming, some are going ; 

Do not strive to grasp them all. 

One by one (bright gifts from heaven) 

Joys are sent thee here below ; 
Take them readily when given — 

Ready, too, to let them go. 

One by one thy griefs shall meet thee, 

Do not fear an armed band ; 
One will fade as others greet thee — 

Shadows passing through the land. 

Do not look at life's long sorrow ; 

See how small each moment's pain ; 
God will help thee for to-morrow, 

So each day begin again. 

Every hour that fleets so slowly 

Has its task to do or bear ; 
Luminous the crown, and holy, 

When each gem is set with care. 

Adelaide A. Proctor. 



TRUST. 



23 



UNDER THE SNOW. 



BY H. 



Winter's drear carpet is over the earth ; 

It covers the garden, is piled in the glen; 

But safe and sound, beneath the ground, 

Hid from the curious gaze of men, 

Biding their time while the north winds blow. 

The flowers are waiting under the snow. 

Under the snow, the anemone 

Lies, with her frail and delicate bell ; 

She knows, with the earliest breath of spring. 

Her leaf will burst and her i)uds will swell ; 

And the May flower is lingering, folding low 

Her fragrant blossom, beneath the snow. 

Golden buttercups, daisies white, 

Modest violets, yellow and blue, 

Dandelions, with blossoms bright. 

Honeysuckle of gorgeous hue — 

Though the hours seem long and the days move slow, 

"We know you are safe, down under the snow. 

Rose-bush branches, brown, leallcss and bare, 
Wait for a miracle to disclose. 
When June comes with her softer air. 
The full and perfect and blushing rose. 
In the soft, black mud of the river's flow. 
The lily gains beauty, 'neatli ice and snow. 



The buds of the lilac, hard nnd brown. 

Are hiding a sudden, leafy glory. 

And whispering the twigs of the purple crown 

They shall wear when spring repeats her story. 

And the myriad grass blades sprout and grow, 

Gath'ring their forces under the snow. 



24 TRUST. 

Beautiful flowers of every hue, 
Rosy, golden, or blue as the skies, 
Waiting the summons that calls you forth, 
Draws you upward and opens your eyes. 
Yours is the lesson I long to know — 
Lives that are hidden under the snow. 

Christian Register. 

Let us not be discouraged, though our future seems 

dark and dreary. Let us do our part courageously. 

This is the lesson the flowers teach. 



" One soweth, and another reapeth" — John iv, 37. 
SOWING AND REAPING. 

BY REV. B. R. BULKELEY. 

Surely, one man soweth 

While another reaps ; 
And the mother waketh 

While the baby sleeps. 

Each one finds a harvest 

Which he never sowed ; 
Each one bearing burdens 

Lifts another's load. 

Every one is reaper 

From some distant seed ; 
Every one is sower 

For another's need. 

This is law and gospel. 

Sweet it is to find. 
When the sowers perish. 

Reapers come behind. 

Praise the God of harvest, 
What is wrought in tears 

Bringeth some one blessings 
In the mystic years. 



TRUST. 25 

Praise the God of harvest 

That another reaps, 
So the labor fails not, 

When the sower sleeps. 

It has been said that he wlio plants a tree is a phi- 
lanthropist. He will scarcely live to enjoy its bless- 
ings. He plants it for the good of the race. *' One 
soweth, and another reapeth." Let us remember that 
what we reap was sown by another. Let every one be 
careful to sow good seed that others may reap a har- 
vest of good things. '* Do unto others as ye would 
that others should do unto you." 



'' Let U8 not weary in well doing ; for in due season we shall reap, ij v:e 
faint noty — Gal. vi, 9. 

THE TAPESTRY WEAVERS. 

Let us take to our hearts a lesson — no lesson can braver be — 
From the ways of the tapestry weavers on the other side of the 

sea. 
Above their heads the pattern hangs; they study it with care. 
The while their fingers deftly work, their eyes are fastened there. 
They tell this curious thing, besides, of the patient, plodding 

weaver : 
He works on the wrong side evermore, but works for the right 

side ever. 
It is only when the weaving stops, and the web is loosed and 

turned. 
That he sees his real handiwork — that his marvelous skill is 

learned. 
Ah ! the sight of its delicate beauty, how it pays him for all his 

cost ! 
No rarer, daintier work than his was ever done by the frost. 



26 TRUST. 

Then the master bringeth liim golden hire, and giveth him praise 

as well ; 
And how happy the heart of the weaver is no tongiie but his own 

can tell. 
The years of man are the looms of God, let down from the place 

of the sun, 
Y/herein we are weaving alway, till the mystic web is done. 
Weaving blindly, but weaving surely, each for himself his fate. 
We may not see how the right side looks; we can only weave and 

wait. 
But, looking above for the pattern, no weaver need have fear. 
Only let him look clear into heaven — the Perfect Pattern is there. 
If he keeps the face of our Savior forever and always in sight, 
His toil shall be sweeter than honey, his weaving is sure to be 

right. 
And when his task is ended, and the web is turned and shown, 
He shall hear the voice of the Master. It shall say to him, " Well 

done ! " 
And the white-winged angels of heaven, to bear him thence, shall 

come down ; 
And God for his wage shall give him, not coin, but a golden 

crown. 

From a tract disseminated by the Roman Catholic Church. 



FRED AND THE MICE. 

Fred was a little five-year-old boy. Everybody 
loved him, for he was a contented and happy child. 
He thought himself a little hero, and often, armed 
with a stick, made war on the chickens and geese. 
Although Fred thought himself so brave, there was 
one animal of which he was much afraid. What do 
you think it was? Well, it was a mouse! Such a 
little animal could make our young hero tremble 
and cry. 



TEUST. 27 

In the evening, when Fred went to bed, he was 
obliged to go through an unused room, where the 
mice seemed to hold possession. When he saw them 
running over the floor or heard them gnawing, he 
would cry, in a cowardly way, for his mamma to come 
to him. 

One evening his mamma was sick and his nurse 
was away from home. There was no one there but his 
papa, who was in the sitting-room reading his paper. 
He told Fred it was time for him to go to bed. 

" O papa, will you not take me to bed ? I do not 
like to go through that room alone.'' 

'^What do you fear?'' asked his father. 

" I am afraid of the mice ; and I believe there are 
rats, too." 

" If that is all," answered his father, '^ I can soon 
help you." 

He took pen, ink and paper, and quickly wrote the 
following : 

^' To all the rats and mice in this house ; I hereby 
command you to let my little son go through all the 
rooms of this house unmolested. Any rat or mouse that 
does not obey will ])e dealt with according to law." 

The father signed and then read the paper to his son. 
Fred took it, thanked him, said "good-night" very 
prettily, and went to bed. H(^ was no longer afraid. 
He had often seen his father give passes to people who 
wished to make a railroad journey, so he had a high 
opinion of passes written by his father. 

When he came to the door of the room, he stopped, 
and said, in a loud voice, " Rats and mice, you can not 



28 TRUST. 

hurt me ; for here is my pass.'^ And so he did every 
night afterward, until he became a large boy, and was 
no longer afraid of rats and mice. — From the German, 



THE LITTLE LODGER 

A Baltimore policeman found a little boy wander- 
ing about one of the wharves of the city at ten o'clock 
at night, and took him to the station-house. The little 
fellow was fair-haired and rosy-cheeked, and could 
speak German only. He had lost his hat. A com- 
fortable bed was made for him on one of the settees. 
He lay down ; but, remembering himself, he said, in 
his native tongue, *' I have not prayed yet." Then, 
while three reporters and two policemen reverently 
bowed their heads, the little hands were clasped, and 
in childish accents he offered his prayers. When he 
had concluded, a reporter tucked a policeman's coat 
around the child, and he dropped into the sleep of 
innocence. — Presbyterian Journal, 



» A WISE CONCLUSION. 

One summer evening, after Harry and his little sis- 
ter Helen had been put to bed, a severe thunder-storm 
came up. 

Their cribs stood side by side ; and their mother, in 
the next room, heard them as they sat up in bed and 
talked, in low voices, about the thunder and lightning. 

They told each other their fears. They were afraid 
the lightning would strike them. 



TRUST. 29 

They wondered whether they would be killed right 
off, and whether the house would be burned up. They 
trembled afresh at each peal. 

But tired nature could not hold out as long as the 
storm. 

Harry became very sleepy, and at last, with renewed 
cheerfulness in his voice, he said, as he laid his head 
on the pillow, ^^Well, Fm going to trust in God.^^ 

Little Helen sat a minute longer thinking it over, 
and then laid her own little head down, saying, '^ Well, 
I dess I will too.'^ 

And they both went to sleep, without more words. 
— Youth\s Companion. 



LITTLE JIM. 

BY F. H. LEIGHTON. 

It was Christmas eve ; and the lighted street 
Ke-echoed the tread of hurrying feet, 
Of multitudes filled with the tender mirth 
That blesses the time of the Savior's birth. 

There were women, men and sweet little girls 
With their rosy cheeks and fluttering curls ; 
While the stores with urchins seemed all alive, 
Bushing here and there like bees in a hive. 

The pavements sparkled with an icy glare. 
And a wintry chill was in all the air; 
But never a thought for the cold had Jim, 
For with joy his cup was full to the brim. 

'Tis true his fingers were aching with cold, 
His jacket was thin and ragged and old, 
No place for his head in the bitter night ; 
Yet Jim's little heart was full of delight. 



30 TRUST. 

He had heard of Santa Claus. Who has not? 
But Jim also knew more — the very spot 
Where he lives; and he Avas going that night 
To see if the v/ondrous story was right. 

Now, Jim had in mind a mansion of stone, 
Towering high on a corner alone ; 
From every window a glare of light, 
Bidding defiance to cold and night. 

So he trudged along o'er the ice and snow ; 
And a gay little tune he whistled low, 
Till he reached the house that he sought at last, 
While a ragged stocking his hand held fast. 

Then, mounting the doorstep, a string he took, 
Of the silver handle he made a hook ; 
Then he pinned a paper fast to the toe. 
Or over a hole where the toe would go. 

You will smile at Jim's poor letter, I fear : 
" Deer Mister Santa, I know you live here, 
I hope you won't mind cause I've come to see 
If you had not something for boys like me. 

"I guess you have, so please put it in here. 
But if you haven't, I'll wait till next year. 
But just nothing at all seems kinder slim, 
I hope tliere'U be something for little Jim." 

Then, sitting down on the step in the cold, 
He watched the lights shining cheery and bold ; 
While the snowflakes, falling swiftly and white, 
Made him a mantle, soft, fleecy and light. 

Then he fell asleep and knew nothing more; 
But his stocking still bravely waved by the door, 
And the snow, with gentle but deadly hand, 
Still wrapped him with silvery fold and band. 



TRUST. 31 

But somebody came ere the night was gone, 
And found Jim's message the stocking upon ; 
And little Jim woke in a lovely room, 
On a downy couch 'mid dainty perfume. 

And, looking up in a strong, manly face. 
He said, with a child's all unconscious grace, 
" You're Santa, I s'pose, and I thank you so ; 
But I never asked to come in, you know. 

"I only thought that mayhap you could find 
Some little thing that you wouldn't much mind 
Giving away to a poor boy like me. 
I've never had Christmas— never, you see. 

" What ? Stay here always ? Well, then it's all true. 
And Santa Glaus, yes, sir, I know he's you ; 
And, if this isn't all a dream, I'll stay ; 
If 'tis, I hope it will never come day." 

And dear little children everywhere, 
I know you are glad little Jim is there. 
And that he has found a Santa Claus, too, 
A father to love him and pet him like you. 



32 HONESTY. 



CHAPTER II. 

HONESTY. 

An honest man's the noblest work of God. — Pope. 

Provide things honest in the sight of all men. — 
Romans, xii, 17. 

Honesty is the best policy. — Don Quixote. 

Honesty is not only the best policy, but the best 
principle. — Hoss, 

An honest man is able to speak for himself, when 
a knave is not. — Shakespeare. 

The more honesty a man has, the less he affects the 
air of a saint. — Lavater. 

There is no more impressive way of inculcating 
ideas of honesty in children than by the story. This, 
then, is the only excuse for presenting the following 
stories : 

" Take heed and beware of covetoiLsness." — Luke xii, 15. 
THE BIG TURNIP. 

A poor but honest and hard-working man had in his 

garden a turnip which was so big as to astonish every- 
body. So he thought within himself that he would 
make a present of it to his landlord, who he knew 
liked to see his tenants careful and industrious. His 
landlord praised him very much for such attention to 
his garden, and made him a handsome present for his 



HONESTY. 33 

pains. A neighbor, who was very rich and covetous, 
hearing of the poor man^s good fortune, thought that 
he too would make a present to his landlord of a fine 
fat sheep which he had, thinking that, if the other got 
such a handsome present for a miserable turnip, he 
should surely get much more for his fine sheep. When 
his landlord saw him come with his present, he 
knew very well that such generosity was only a mere 
pretense, in order to get a good price for his sheep, 
and therefore refused at first to accept it. But, as the 
man still begged that he would be pleased to take it, his 
landlord consented, saying, " Well, if you force me to 
do so, I suppose I must take it; but, as you are so 
very generous, allow me to make you a present in re- 
turn of this very fine turnip, which, I assure you, cost 
me three times the value of your sheep.^' The man, 
thunderstruck at this unexpected present, sneaked off 
with the turnip, not very well pleased at the success 
of his scheme. 



" Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is per- 
fect:'— Matt V, 48. 

THE THIEF'S DEVICE. 

There is a fable among the Hindus that a thief, 
having been detected and condemned to die, sent for 
his jailer and told him he had a secret of great im- 
portance which he desired to impart to the king, and 
when that had been done he would be prepared to die. 
Upon receiving this intelligence, the king ordered the 
culprit to be conducted to his presence. The thief 
3 



o4 HONESTY. 

explained that he kuew the secret of causing trees to 
grow which would bear fruit of pure gold. The ex- 
periment might be easily tried, and his majesty would 
not lose the opportunity. So, accompanied by his 
prime minister, his courtiers, and his chief priest, he 
wxnt with the thief to a spot selected near the city 
wall, where the latter performed a series of solemn 
incantations. This done, the condemned man pro- 
duced a piece of gold, and declared that, if it should 
be planted, it would produce a tree every branch of 
which would bear gold. ^' But,'' he added, ^Hhis 
must be put into the ground by a hand that has never 
been stained by a dishonest act. My hand is not clean ; 
therefore, I pass it to your majesty.^' 

The king took the piece of gold, but hesitated. 
Finally, he said : ^' I remember in my younger days 
that I filched money from my father's treasury which 
was not mine. I have repented of the sin, but yet I 
can hardly say my hand is clean. I pass it, therefore, 
to my prime minister." 

The latter, after a brief consultation, answered : " It 
were a pity to break the charm through a possible 
blunder. I receive taxes from the people ; and, as I 
am exposed to many temptations, how can I be sure 
that I have been perfectly honest ? I must give it to 
the governor of our citadel." 

^' No, no," cried the governor, drawing back. " Re- 
member that I have the serving out of pay and 
provisions to the soldiers. Let the high priest 
plant it." 

And the high priest said : " You forget that I have 



HONESTY. 35 

the collecting of the tithes and the disbursements of 
sacrifice/^ 

At length the thief exclaimed, ^^ Your Majesty, I 
think it would be better for society that all five of us 
should be hanged, since it appears that not an honest 
man can be found among us.'' In spite of the lament- 
able exposure, the king laughed, and was so pleased 
with the thief's cunning expedient that he pardoned 
him.— Christian Weekly. 



THE GOLD BASKET. 

It was only a fruit-dish of white china with gilt 
bands around it; but little Yi admired it very much^ 
and called it "mamma's gold basket." 

One afternoon. Aunt Emily came to make a call, 
and mamma brought in the basket filled with nice 
Florida oranges. After everybody had eaten an orange, 
and Aunt Emily had gone, sister Anna set the basket 
on the kitchen table, and that was the way the trouble 
began. 

Little Vi went out there alone to play with the cat. 
She chased her around and around the room, till, by 
and by, kitty, growing tired of the sport, jumped into 
a chair, and got upon the table. 

" Come down ! come down ! " said little Yi. " You 
must not smell those oranges with your nose. Come 
down ! " 

But kitty did not come ; she was trying to decide 
whether the beautiful yellow balls were good to eat. 
Then Yi caught her by the tail and pulled her back- 



36 HONESTY. 

ward. She did not do it roughly, but somehow that 
gold basket got in the way — perhaps kitty\s paw 
touched it, perhaps it was Vi's arm; but^ at any rate, 
the basket was overturned, and down it fell, broken 
in pieces upon the floor. 

, Yi stared in surprise at the dreadful ruin, and then 
stared at the oranges rolling, helter-skelter, under the 
stove. 

'' Who did that ? How did it fall ? " thought she. 

But, the next moment, it came over her that she 
herself was the one to blame. 

" Why, I didn't mean to ! That pretty, pretty 
basket ! What will mamma say ? ^^ 

Little Vi's forehead was full of wrinkles, her eyes 
were full of tears. She stood so still that you could 
almost have heard the fly on the roller towel scrape 
his wings. 

" V\\ go tell mamma I did it, and I'm so sorry. No ; 
I'll tell her kitty did it — I guess kitty did do it. 
Naughty kitty ! " 

The little girl moved one foot, and then she stood 
still again. The clock ticked very loud — you know 
how loud a clock does tick sometimes — and the fly on 
the towel gazed at Vi, and she gazed at the fly. 

"No ; I won't tell mamma anything; I won't go in 
the parlor at all. I'll go out in the yard, and then 
mamma will think kitty broke the basket ; for kitty 
will be in here all alone." 

Vi took three steps toward the outside door, and 
then she stood still again, and the clock ticked worse 
than ever. It seemed as if that clock was watching 



HONESTY. 37 

to see Vi make up her mind, and as if that old fly 
was watching, too. 

" Tick, tock — if you go and leave the kitty in here 
alone, it will be the same as a lie — tick, tock — same 
as a lie.^^ It wasn't the clock that said that, but it 
sounded just like the clock. 

^^ Will it be the same as a lie, a true lie ? ^' said the 
child. And then she looked at the fly, who nodded 
his head, and kept nodding it. Vi knew he didn't 
mean "yes," but it seemed just as if he meant yes. 
" I will not tell a lie,'' said Vi, turning her back to 
the outside door, and putting her foot down hard; "I 
will not tell a lie." And with that she ran into the 
parlor ; for, if she walked, she was afraid she might 
not go at all. She ran every step of the way as fast 
as she could run, and sobbed out : 

"O mamma, it wasn't the kitty; it was me ! But 
I didn't mean to at all ! " 

And her mamma kissed her, and said she " knew it 
was an accident, and she never had loved her little 
daughter so well in her life as when she came and told 
the whole truth, like a dear, brave, good little girl; 
for the truth is better than all the gold baskets in the 
world." 

HOW HE WON THE BEST PRIZE, 

There were prizes in Willie's school, and he was 
anxious to merit one of them. Willie was behind the 
other boys in all studies except in, writing. As he 
had no hope to excel in anything but writing, he 
made up his mind to try for the special prize for that 



38 HONESTY. 

with all his might. And he did try so that his copy- 
book would have done honor to a boy twice his age. 
When the prizes were awarded, the chairman of the 
committee held up two copy-books, and said : " It 
would be difficult to say which of these two books is 
better than the other but for one copy in Willie's, 
which is not only superior to Charlie's, but to every 
other copy in the same book. This copy, therefore, 
gains the prize." 

Willie's heart beat high with hope, not unmixed 
with fear. Blushing to his temples, he said : " Please, 
sir^ may I see that copy ? " 

^^ Certainly," said the chairman^ looking somewhat 
surprised. 

Willie glanced at the copy ; and then, handing the 
book back, he said : '' Please, sir, that is not my 
writing. It was written by an upper class boy, who 
took my book by mistake one day, instead of his own." 

^' Oh, oh ! " said the chairman, ^' that may alter the 
case." The two books went back to the committee, 
who, after comparing them carefully, awarded the 
prize to Charlie. 

One boy said he was silly to say anything about the 
mistake. 

" I wouldn't have told," said another. 

^^ Nor I," added a third. " The copy was in your 
book, and you had a right to it." 

But, in spite of all, Willie said : " It wouldn't have 
been the truth, if I had not told who wrote the copy." 

" Hurrah for Willie ! " " Three cheers for Willie ! " 
"Well done, Willie!" shouted i\\Q boys; and Willie 



HONESTY. 39 

went home far happier than if he had won the prize. 
— The Children's Friend. 



WAS HE TRUTHFUL? 

Roger was deeply interested in his arithmetic. He 
had begun working as soon as he came home, not even 
stopping to make a visit to the pantry. His pencil 
seemed to be running a race with the sewing-machine, 
which kept up a busy hum. 

Suddenly, something snapped, and the machine 
stopped. 

'^ There ! IVe broken my needle, and it is the last 
one I have in the house. Roger, can^t you run to the 
store and get me one ? I would like to finish this 
stitching to-day.^' 

^^ O mamma, must you have it ? I haven't a single 
minute to spare," said Roger. 

^^ I can work on something else, if you haven't time 
to go," replied his mother. 

Roger's pencil worked on noisily for a few minutes, 
when some one knocked. 

" Is Roger home ? " said an eager voice. '' Oh, say ! 
the bows and arrows have come. Can't you go down 
and see them ? " 

Roger threv/ down his pencil, seized his hat, and 
was off. 

He did not return until tea-time. ^^ Now for arith- 
metic," he said, when the table was cleared and the 
lamp placed upon it with the daily paper. 

" Halloa ! here's the new magazine. I must read 



40 HONESTY. 

the continued story. I guess I will have time for 
that.^^ 

But somehow the story was very long, or else one 
story led on to another ; for, when Eoger at last tossed 
the book aside, he found the evening almost gone. 

He glanced at the clock and rapidly counted the 
leaves. ^'Oh, dear! I can^t do half as much as I 
planned,^^ he said ; " I am so tired I can^t think." 

The next day, the teacher was surprised that Eoger 
had done so little ; and, when she asked the reason, he 
said he had done all he had time for. 

Was this truthful? Was it right? — Ckristian 
Observer. 

BRYANT'S TENDER CONSCIENCE. 

The following anecdote is told of the late William 
Cullen Bryant, the poet, by a former associate in his 
newspaper office, which illustrates the good man's sim- 
plicity of heart. Says the narrator : " One morning, 
many years ago, after reaching his office, and trying 
in vain to begin work, he turned to me and remarked : 
' I can not get along at all this morning.^ ^ Why 
not?' I asked. ^ Oh,' he replied, ^ I have done wrong. 
When on my way here, a little boy flying a kite passed 
me. The string of the kite having rubbed against 
my face, I seized it and broke it. The boy lost his kite, 
but I did not stop to pay him for it. I did wrong ; I 
ought to have paid him.' " 

This tenderness of conscience went far toward mak- 
ing the poet the kindly, noble, honorable and honored 
man that he was, whose death was felt as a loss through- 
out the land. 



HONESTY. 41 

FRENCH IDEAS OF TRUTH TELLING. 

A friend of ours, in personal conversation witli a 
French lady, once remarked that the English and the 
French ideas of truthfulness were different. ^^The 
English/^ said he, " think it is wrong to tell a lie ; 
the French think it is wrong, if it will do harm; 
but, if it will do good, it is right." The French lady 
indignantly resented the suggestion. " No,'' said she, 
" I think the French are just as truthful as the En- 
glish." "Ah ! " replied our friend, " I did not say 
they were not as truthful ; I said their theory of truth, 
differed — that the English think that lying is wrong, 
whatever effect it produces; while the French think 
that lying is right, if it will give pleasure and da 
good." "No," replied the French lady, very ear- 
nestly, "I think their theory is just the same; and, 
besides, why is it not right to tell a lie if it will do 
good ? " — Christian Union, 



FAITHFUL IN LITTLE. 

A lady bought a paper on a horse-car going down 
Cornhill recently, and gave the lad five cents in pay- 
ment. He started off as if to change it, and did not 
return. Several days after, the same lady, getting off 
the car at the same place, was accosted by a bare- 
footed and honest-faced boy in these words : " Missus^ 
missus, here's your change. I ran as fast as I could, 
but the car had gone." And he insisted on returning 
it to her. — Woman^s Journal. 



42 HONESTY. 

" Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord." — Prov. xii, 22. 
THE DOLLARS GO, BUT THE LIE STAYS. 

^' Would you tell a lie for five cents ? '^ asked a Sab- 
bath-school teacher. ^' No, ma^am.^^ " For ten cents ? " 
,"]N'o, ma'am.'' ^^ For a dollar ? " "No, ma'am." "For 
a hundred dollars ? " No, ma'am ; not even for a hun- 
dred dollars." " For a thousand dollars ? " 

Henry hesitated. He could buy many things with 
a thousand dollars ! While he was thinking Charlie 
answered, "No, ma'am," very positively. "Why 
not ? " " Because, when the thousand dollars are 
gone, the lie is the same." 

Which of these boys was the stouter, morally ? Ten 
cents would have measured the moral strength of some 
boys. 

TWO BLIND MEN. 

FKOM THE GERMAN. 

There were once in Rome two blind men, one of 
whom cried in the streets of the city : " He is helped 
whom God helps." The other, on the contrary, cried : 
" He is helped whom the king helps." This they did 
every day ; and the emperor heard it so often that he 
had a loaf of bread baked and filled with gold pieces. 

This gold-filled loaf he sent to the blind man who 
appealed to the emperor's help. When he felt the 
heavy weight of the bread, he sold it to the other 
beggar as soon as he met him. The blind man who 
bought the bread carried it home. When he had 
broken it and found the gold, he thanked God, and 



HONESTY. 43 

from that day ceased to beg. But the other continu- 
ing to beg through the city, the emperor summoned 
him to his presence, and asked him : ^' What hast thou 
done with the loaf that I lately sent thee ? " 

*' I sold it to my friend, because it was heavy and 
did not seem well risen. ^^ 

Then the emperor said : " Truly, he whom God 
helps is helped indeed,^^ and turned the blind man 
from him. — The Congregationalist. 



" The lip of truth shall be established forever, but a lyiny tongue is but 
fm^ a moment." — Prov. xii, 19. 

LITTLE SCOTCH GRANITE. 

Burt and Johnnie Lee were delighted when their 
Scotch cousin came to live with them. He was little, 
but very bright and full of fun. He could tell curi- 
ous things about his home in Scotland and his voyage 
across the ocean. He was as far advanced in his 
studies as they were, and the first day he went to 
school they thought him remarkably good. He wasted 
no time in play when he should have been studying, 
and he advanced finely. 

At night, before the close of the school, the teacher 
called the roll and the boys began to answer, " Ten." 
When Willie understood that he was to say ten, if he 
had not whispered during the day, he replied : ^' I 
have whispered.'' 

" More than once ? " asked the teacher. 

" Yes, sir," answered Willie. 

" As many as ten times ? " 



44 HONESTY. 

" Maybe I have/' faltered Willie. 

" Then I shall mark you zero," said the teacher, 
sternly ; " and that is a great disgrace." 

" Why, I did not see you whisper once," said John- 
nie, that night after school. 

" Well, I did," said Willie ; " I saw others doing it, 
and so I asked to borrow a book ; then I lent a slate- 
pencil, and asked a boy for a knife, and did several 
such things. I supposed it was allowed." 

" Oh, we all do it," said Burt, reddening. '' There 
isn't any sense in the old rule ; and nobody could 
keep it — nobody does." 

" I will, or else I will say I haven't," said Willie. 
" Do you suppose I would tell ten lies in one heap ? " 

" Oh, we don't call them lies," muttered Johnnie. 
" There wouldn't be a credit among us at night, if we 
were so strict." 

^^ What of that, if you told the truth?" laughed 
Willie, bravely. 

In a short time the boys all saw how it was with 
him. He studied hard, played with all his might in 
play -time ; but, according to his account, he lost more 
credits than any of the rest. After some weeks, the 
boys answered ^' Nine " and " Eight " oftener than 
they used to. Yet the school-room seemed to have 
grown quieter. Sometimes, when Willie Grant's mark 
was even lower than usual, the teacher would smile 
peculiarly, but said no more of disgrace. Willie 
never preached at them or told tales ; but, somehow, 
it made the boys ashamed of themselves, just the see- 
ing that this sturdy, blue-eyed boy must tell the truth. 



HONESTY. 45 

It was putting the clean cloth by the half-soiled one, 
you see ; and they felt like cheats and story-tellers. 
They talked him all over, and loved him, if they did 
nickname him '^ Scotch Granite," he was so firm about 
a promise. 

Well, at the end of the term, Willie^s name was 
very low down on the credit list. When it was read 
he had hard work not to cry ; for he was very sensi- 
tive, and he had tried hard to be perfect. But the 
very last thing that day was a speech by the teacher, 
who told of once seeing a man muffled up in a cloak. 
He was passing him without a look, when he was told 
the man was General , the great hero. 

" The signs of his rank were hidden, but the hero 
was there just the same," said the teacher. "And 
now, boys, you will see what I mean when I give a 
little gold medal to the most faithful boy — the one 
really the most conscientiously ^ perfect in his deport- 
ment' among you. Who shall have it?" 

" Little Scotch Granite ! " shouted forty boys at 
once ; for the child whose name was so " low " on the 
credit list had made truth noble in their eyes. — The 
British Evangelist. 

STOLEN PROPERTY. 

" I know all about Sadie's birthday party, for all 
she tried to keep it such a secret," said Lottie Mills, 
with a look of triumph. 

"How did you find out?" I asked. 

" Why, you see, Josie and I were reading a story 
under the elm tree this noon, and Sadie came and sat 



43 HONESTY, 

in the window with Carrie Richards, and they talked 
it all over, and we heard every word. She's going to 
have '' 

" Stop, stop ! do you suppose I want to share any 
stolen property ? '' 

" Stolen property, auntie ? Why, we didn't listen — 
we couldn't help hearing, for she talked right out 
loud." 

" That's very true, but she didn't know you were 
there, so you have no right at all to her secret. A 
listener is like a pickpocket who creeps up and steals 
your secrets slily ; and you are like a person who sees 
another drop a purse in the street and picks it up. 
If you took the money and used it when you knew it 
was not yours, would you be any more honest than if 
you had taken it right out of a man's pocket?^' 

^^ Why, no, auntie ! of course I should give it back.'^ 

" Or if you could not give it back at once, you 
would keep it safely till you could. That is just what 
you should do with secrets when people drop them 
accidentally, and you pick them up. You have no 
more business to use them than you have to use money 
which you got in the same way." 

" I believe that is so, auntie ; and I won't say a 
word about that party to any one." — Child's World, 



There are no fragments so precious as those of 
time, and none so heedlessly lost by people who can 
not make a moment, and yet can waste years. — Mont- 
gomery, 



HONESTY. 47 

WHY SHE "COULDN'T HELP IT." 

^^ O mamma, I am sorry, but I couldn^t help it. I 
didn't mean to do it." 

And, so saying, Minnie Norris looked down at the 
fragments of what had been a very pretty pink china 
cup and saucer, as they lay upon the floor in a most 
pitiable state — such tiny fragments, some of them mere 
chips, that it was well-nigh impossible to put them 
together again. 

^^ Of course you didn't mean to do it," answered her 
mother, "■ but why did you meddle with the cup ? " 

" I wanted a drink, and '' — 

" You might just as well have taken a drink out of 
one of the goblets,'' said Alice, Minnie's youngest sis-^ 
ter, to whom the cup had belonged. 

" The goblets are all in the diniug-room closet. 
Besides, water tastes so much nicer out of anything 
pretty. I am sorry I broke your cup, Alice. Indeed, 
I couldn't help it. I'll give you my new vase to 
make up." 

Alice v/as very easily pacified; and, as she knew 
that her sister's destruction of the cup and saucer was 
not intentional, she said no more about it. Neither 
did their mother. 

Grandma Norris was sitting in her arm-chair, knit- 
ting as usual ; and, when the above conversation took 
place, she looked up over her spectacles, first at the 
children, then at their mother, but she said nothing. 

The next day, Minnie came home from school with 
a grievous rent in her best merino school dress. When 



48 HONESTY. 

her mother uttered an exclamation of dismay, she 
hastened to say ; 

" I am real sorry ! I caught my dress on a nail in 
the school-yard fence. I couldn't help its tearing." 

Again grandma looked up over her spectacles, but 
said nothing. 

Just before bed-time there was a chorus of " ohs " 
and '^ ahs '^ from the table in the back parlor where 
the Norris children were clustered, preparing their 
lessons for the next morning. 

" What is the matter out there ? '' asked their father, 
whose perusal of the evening newspaper had been dis- 
turbed by their cries. 

" I upset the ink bottle, papa,'' answered Minnie. 

" All over my new atlas, too," grumbled Will. 

" It will not hurt it ; it has only gone on the paper 
cover ; and I'm sure we're mopping it up as fast as we 
can," cried Minnie. 

" How came you to be so careless ? " 

" I don't know, sir. I s'pose one of my books 
must have hit it in some way. I did not mean to do 
it. I'm sure I couldn't help it," she replied. " I'm 
very sorry about it." 

" Well, perhaps you couldn't avoid it ; but do be 
more careful ! For a girl twelve years old, you cer- 
tainly get into a great many scrapes," said her mother, 
quickly, afraid, perhaps, that Mr. Norris might feel 
it his duty to scold Minnie or to punish her. 

Half an hour later, Minnie was in her pretty little 
bedroom preparing for her nightly slumbers, when 
grandma came in. 



HONESTY. 49 

"As a general rule, Minnie dear, I think you are a 
truthful girl. I was very glad to hear you own up so 
promptly and courageously when you upset that ink 
bottle a little while ago, but was exceedingly sorry to 
hear you tell an untruth about it." 

"An untruth, grandma? I don't remember it. 
What did I say ? " And Minnie looked and felt very 
much puzzled. 

" The same, also untrue, which you said when you 
broke Alice's cup and saucer, when you tore your 
dress this morning, and which you have said on many, 
many other occasions — that you couldn't help it." 

" But, grandma, surely that was the truth ! X 
could not help dropping the cup, nor " — 

" Just think a moment, my dear; it was not at all 
necessary for you to have touched the cup. In fact, 
it was not yours, and you should not have done so ; 
but, after touching it, you did not grasp it firmly. 
Suppose, for example, you had been sure that it would 
have cost you your life if you dropped it, could you 
not then have avoided the calamity ? " 

" Yes, ma'am, I suppose so." 

" And your dress was torn on a nail. I fancy that 
you were able to avoid going so near the nail. Where 
was it?" 

Minnie looked the least bit guilty as she explained 
that she was trying to climb up the fence, just for fun, 
not even to really get over it, and when she jumped 
down the offending nail did the mischief. 

"Then you could have helped it?" 

" Yes, ma'am. I understand now what you mean, 



50 HONESTY. 

I think. And, if I hnd not been pushing my books 
on the table so as to joggle Alice's slate, I would not 
have upset the ink.'^ 

" Exactly so. I am glad that you comprehend what 
I mean that, in saying you ^ couldn't help ' this, that 
or the other^ you were not telling the truth. You 
should have said, ^ I did not try as I ought to have 
done to avoid unfortunate consequences,' to some ap- 
parently trifling act. When one does what one ought 
not to do, or leaves a plain duty undone, one is re- 
sponsible for the results ; and therefore we can ^ help 
it^ oftener than we realize." 

"Next time, grandma, I'll try and only say, ^I 
didn't mean to do it,' when I meet such misfortunes ; 
for I see now that I wasn't really truthful when I 
complained I ^ couldn't help.' " — Universalist. 



WHO BANGED SUSIE'S HAIR. 

Susie Burke came in from the garden one warm 
summer afternoon with her little scissors in one hand 
and a lot of paper doljs and dolls' clothes in the other. 

" Why, Susie ! " exclaimed her mother. " What in 
this world have you been doing to yourself?" 

"Susie Burke, whatever possessed you to cut your 
hair like that ? " exclaimed Helen, her elder sister. 

" O-o-h ! what will papa say ? He just hates bangs ! " 
put in Harry Burke, Susie's brother. 

" How could you do such a thing, my child ? " 



HONESTY. 51 

asked Susie's mother, with looks of mingled aston- 
ishment and displeasure. 

Susie's face grev/ red and she looked ready to cry. 
She put her hand uneasily to her forehead, across 
which the soft dark hair, which was usually combed 
smoothly back, fell in a very irregular line. It was 
easy to see that the ^' banging '' had been done by no 
practiced hand. 

" I didn't do it, mamma," said Susie. 

" You didn't do it ? Who did, then ? " 

" I don't know, truly, mamma." 

" Why, Susie, how can that be possible ? " said 
mamma. 

" Why, Susie Burke, what a story ! " exclaimed 
Harry. 

" Hush, Harry ! don't accuse your litfcle sister of 
telling v^^hat isn't true. Where have you been all the 
time since lunch, Susie?" 

'^ In the arbor in the garden, cutting out dresses for 
my dollies," said Susie, holding up what she had in 
her hand as evidence of the truth of her words. 

" All the time ? " queried mamma. 

"Yes, all the time. I haven't been anywhere 
else." 

"And you didn't cut any of your hair — not the 
least little lock ? " 

" No, not the least little bit. I knew papa wouldn't 
like it." 

" Did anybody come into the garden while you 
were there ? " 

" I didn't see anybody, mamma." 



52 HONESTY. 

" Well, if that isn't a mystery ! '' exclaimed Mrs. 
Burke. 

" It's awful hard to believe, / think/' said Sister 
Helen. 

" We must believe it. Little Susie has never been 
known to tell a lie. Whatever any of my children 
tell me, I shall believe is true, till they have clearly 
proved their words untrustworthy," said mamma, 
firmly. 

" But how could such a thing be ? " argued Helen. 
" Her hair is cut all jagged, exactly as a child would 
do it if she tried to cut it herself; and yet she didn't 
do it and don't know who did it." 

" And she asked papa the other day if she might 
have her hair banged just like Nellie Eastman's," 
said Harry. 

^^ I didn't do it, truly, truly, mamma," was all poor 
Susie could urge ; while she nestled closer within the 
encircling arm whose close clasp seemed to assure her 
of defense against the displeasure and distrust of all 
the world. 

" We shall have to wait and see what papa will 
say," said Mrs. Burke, after a moment of perplexed 
thought. 

"Will he be very angry?" asked Susie. " Will 
you tell him I didn't do it ? " 

" Or consent to its being done ? " cross-questioned 
Helen. 

" I didn't even know it was done till just as I got 
up to come in," Susie declared. " I thought some- 
thing felt odd, and I put my hand up ; and it was all 



HONESTY. 53 

This was a mystery indeed. Nor could papa solve 
itj though he questioned his little daughter even more 
closely than her mother and sister had done. 

" We must believe that she speaks the truth, be- 
cause she has earned a character for truth/' he said 
at last. ^^ I should be sadly disappointed and grieved 
if I found I couldn't depend on the word of a child 
of mine. Go to mamma, and let her make the cutting 
even, Susie. Since I must submit to seeing you v/ith 
your hair banged, it must be done in better style than 
that.'' 

"I'm sorry, papa, since you don't like it. Will 
you kiss me?'' said Susie, lifting her shorn head 
timidly. 

Her father stooped and kissed her. " You needn't 
feel badly when you are not to blame, my child. I 
believe you, though it's the most incomprehensible 
thing ! " 

It remained the most incomprehensible thing for a 
week or more. Then, one morning, soon after break- 
fast, they had a caller, — two callers, in fact, — Mrs. Lake, 
their nearest neighbor, and Rollie, her youngest son, 
a merry rogue of ten or eleven years. 

The boy looked shy and shamefaced, and kept as 
much out of sight behind his mother as possible, while 
she explained the reason of her call. 

" I have just found out that this boy of mine has 
been guilty of a very naughty trick," said Mrs. Lake. 
" I thought you ought to know, as Susie might be 
blamed unjustly. I brought him here that he might 
confess. Now, Rollie, tell Mrs. Burke." 



54 HONESTY. 

" I cut Susie's hair," Rollie blurted out, with his 
eyes fastened to the floor. 

" But how ? 'It has been the greatest mystery to 
us ! How could you do it and Susie not know it ? " 

" Oh, she was asleep ! '^ said Rollie. ^^ I found her 
there in the arbor, leaning back, with a paper doll in 
one hand and the scissors just dropped on her lap 
from the other ; and I just thought Fd bang her hair. 
I'm ever so sorry, and won't never do so again,'' said 
Rollie, penitently. 

" Did she get much blame for it ? " inquired Mrs. 
Lake. " I couldn't think how you could help believ- 
ing she did it, however she might deny it." 

^' We couldn't understand it at all," said Mrs. Burke ; 
^' but we believed Susie, though everything seemed 
against her, because the child never yet told us a lie." 
— Youth's CGmpanion. 



AN ARGUMENT. 

There were three boys on the street-car, bright, 
handsome fellows, chatting together, having a good 
time. The conductor halted before them to take their 
tickets, and twang his bell-punch for each. Two of 
them had passed up their tickets, when the watchful 
eye of the conductor saw a man running and motion- 
ing, and, pulling the bell to stop the car, went to4ielp 
the man, and his wife, and a little girl, and a baby, 
and a basket, and three bundles, to get on. 

When all were settled he went back to his punch- 



HONESTY. 55 

ing. " Did I take up your tickets ? " he said to the 

boys, looking sharply at them. 

^^ Yes, sir/' said two boys in a breath ; the other one 
said not a word. The conductor eyed them thought- 
fully for a minute, then passed on. The silent boy 
nudged the one next him, slyly held up his ticket, 
covering it with the other hand, and chuckled. " See 
that ? I'll get a free ride one of these days." 

" That's stealing," said the boy, gravely. 

" It isn't stealing either ! Isn't the ticket mine ? " 

^^ No, it's his ; you've had your ride, and that ought 
to be given up to pay for it." 

" Why didn't he take it then ? I didn't ask him 
to go on and let me keep it." 

" That's lying," said the third boy, gravely. 

" No it isn't lying. I didn't open my lips. He 
didn't ask me a question ; he looked right at you." 

" Oh, poh ! " said the second boy. 

" Fudge ! " said the third boy. 

Then they all kept quiet. After a little the second 
and third boy began to talk together in low tones ; 
but the first boy had nothing to say ; all the pleasure 
had gone out of his face. His ride seemed to be 
spoiled. What do you suppose spoiled it ? 



Time is like a ship which never anchors ; while I 
am on board, I had better do those things that may 
profit me at my landing than practice such things as 
will cause my commitment when I come ashore. — 
Feltham. 



56 BENEVOLENCE. 



CHAPTEE III. 

BENEVOLENCE. 

The disposition to make others happy can not be 
too highly commended. Children should early learn 
to have a thought for the happiness and comfort of 
their associates. The following stories may be of use 
to impress such lessons ; 

"HELP ONE ANOTHER." 

" Help one another," the snowflakes said, 
As they cuddled down in their fleecy bed ; 

" One of us here would not be felt, 
One of us here would quickly melt ; 
But I'll help you, and you help me, 
And then what a big white drift we'll see ! " 

"Help one another," the maple spray 

Said to its fellow leaves one day ; 
" The sun would wither me here alone. 

Long enough ere the day is gone; 

But I'll help you and you help me, 

And then what a splendid shade there'll be ! " 

" Help one another," the dewdrop cried, 

Seeing another drop close to its side ; 
" This warm south breeze would dry me away, 

And I should be gone ere noon to-day; 

But I'll help you, and you help me. 

And we'll make a brook and run to the sea." 

" Help one another," a grain of sand 

Said to another grain just at hand ; 
" The wind may carry me over the sea, 

And then, O! what will become of me? 



BENEVOLENCE. 57 

But come, my brother, give me your hand ; 
We'll build a mountain, and there we'll stand." 

ip -JfC' ^K y^ ^ ^ ^ 

And so the snowflakes grew to drifts, 

The grains of sand to mountains, 
The leaves became a pleasant shade, 

And dewdrops fed the fountains. 

Bev. George F. Hunting, in the Parish Visitor, 

So it is with boys and girls and older people. Not 
one of us is much, account when alone. We must help 
one another. 



BETH GARLAND'S PRIZE. 

" You are certain to have it, Beth, certain to have it." 

'' Have what, Susie dear? ^' 

^' Why, the first-class prize, to be sure ! ' Presented 
to Beth Garland for punctuality and for the highest 
number of marks for lessons.' How I shall clap, 
Beth, when you walk up to the desk to receive it I 
No one will grudge my dear Beth the prize. Yon 
have won it fairly, and well deserve it.'' Beth shook 
her head. 

" I don't know about that," she said, merrily. " We 
shall see. . . . No, Susie dear, I can not go part way 
home with you this afternoon." 

" No, not a little bit of the way ? " said Susie, coax- 
ingly. 

" No, not a little bit," laughed Beth. 

" Why, it's breaking-up day to-morrow ! You have 
no lessons to learn." 

" I have to call somewhere," said Beth. " So good- 
by until to-morrow, dear." 



58 BENEVOLENCE. 

"Good-by, then," said Susie. ^^ I must hasten 
iome, for mother wants to have tea early. '^ 

Away across the field and out into the lane beyond 

passed bright-eyed Susie Davis, looking back nov»- and 

then at her friend, Beth Garland, who stood with her 

^bag containing her lesson books in her hand under a 

shady tree, watching until Susie was out of sight. 

" Now she can^t see me," exclaimed Beth, as she 
caught the last faint glimpse of Susie's white pina- 
fore. '^ She can't see me now, and wonder where I'm 
going to." And, starting off at a sharp walk, which 
soon became a run, Beth made her way back to the 
village school-room she had left in company with her 
friend about ten minutes ago. 

^' Why, Beth," exclaimed Miss Milwood, the teacher, 
who was just locking up her desk, '^ how hot you are, 
child ! You should not run this warm weather. What 
is the matter? Have you forgotten one of your 
books?" 

'^ ]^o. Miss Milwood, thank you," replied Beth. " I 
only came back because I wanted to speak to you 
alone. To-morrow is breaking-up day " — 

" So I suppose," said Miss Milwood, smiling. 

'^And — and the girls think," stammered Beth—" at 
least, Susie says they think I shall have the first-class 
prize ; and — and, if I have. Miss Milwood, I want to 
share it with Susie, please. We have had the same 
number of marks for lessons and attendance for 
months. I have counted them week by week, and 
we are equal in the examination marks ; and you see. 
Miss Milwood, it was not Susie's fault that she missed 



BENEVOLENCE. 59 

school a whole week after that heavy snow-storm in 
February/^ 

'' No ; the roads were impassable/' said the teacher^ 
thoughtfully. " Susie, living at such a distance from 
the school, could not possibly attend. With the ex- 
ception of that week " — 

" We are about equal, are we not ? " asked Beth, 
eagerly. 

Miss Milwood smiled. 

" You seem to know all about it,'' she said, kindly ; 
"and certainly you two girls have worked harder 
than any others in the class, with the exception of 
Annie Merle and Kate Eoss, both of whom have left 
during the half-year." 

'^ Then you will divide the prize, will you not, dear 
Miss Milwood ? " pleaded Beth. 

" How can I ? " asked Miss Milwood. " The prizes 
are ordered." 

" Then let Susie have the prize intended for me," 
said Beth, " and just give me a little certificate instead. 
I am a whole year older than Susie. It is far more 
to her credit than to mine to gain the prize. And 
promise me, dear Miss Milwood, that you will not 
mention it to the girls." 

" Very well, dear," said Miss Milwood. " I promise 
not to mention it to the girls." 

The breaking-up day came — a bright, lovely, fine 
day. Seated at their desks in the school-room were 
Miss Milwood's scholars, and round the room were 
placed chairs and forms for the children's friends and 
parents. 



60 BENEVOLENCE. 

" The first-class prize has been honestly won by 
Beth Garland," said Miss Milwood. 

Susie began to clap most vigorously. 

*^ Wait a moment, Susie/^ said Miss Milwood, smil- 
ing. " I find that, had you not been obliged to remain 
at home for a week after that heavy snow-storm in 
February, you and Beth would have had an equal 
number of marks. Therefore, I think all your school- 
fellows will be quite willing that you should have a 
share in the prize. 

" The prizes had been ordered before this discovery 
of the number of marks was made, and the first-class 
prize is a small writing-desk. You are fond of writ- 
ing, Susie, so the desk shall be yours ; and, as Beth is 
very fond of needlework, if she does not mind wait- 
ing a day or two, she shall have a work-box equal in 
value to the desk. 

The children cheered. Some of them surely must 
have guessed that Beth had suggested the division of 
the prize, they looked at her so lovingly, as, with her 
fair face flushed with excitement, she walked up the 
long school-room with her friend Susie, who received 
from Miss Milwood a pretty writing-desk, while Beth 
received a tiny note, containing these words : 

" I kept my promise not to tell any of the girls, my 
dear little Beth, but I did tell my brother about your 
wish ; and he begged me to order the work-box for 
you. Through all life's changes, Beth, try to keep 
your loving, unselfish spirit. God will help you, if 
you ask Him." 



BENEVOLENCE. 61 



A BIG TURKEY. 



He was a bouncing big turkey ; and they bad hung 
him by the heels, so that his nose almost touched the 
walk just outside the butcher^s shop, A little girl 
was standing there watching it. You could see that 
she was a hungry little girl ; and, worse than that, she 
was cold too, for her shawl had to do for hood and 
almost everything else. 'No one was looking, and so 
she put out a little red hand, and gave the great tur- 
key a push ; and he swung back and forth, almost 
making the great iron hook creak, he was so heavy. 

" What a splendid big turkey ! ^' 

The poor little girl turned round, and there was 
another little girl looking at the turkey too. She was 
out walking with her dolls, and had on a cloak with 
real fur all around the edges ; and she had a real muff, 
white with little black spots all over it. 

" Good morning, Miss,^^ said the butcherman. You 
see he knew the little girl with the muff perfectly well. 

" That's a big turkey, Mr. Martin.'' 

"Yes," said the poor little girl, timidly; " he's the 
biggest I ever saw in my life. He must be splendid 
to eat." 

" Pooh !" said the little girl with the muif, '^ he isn't 
any bigger than the one my papa brought home for 
Thanksgiving to-morrow, I know." 

" Could I have a leg, if I came for it to-morrow ? " 
asked the poor little girl, softly. 

" What, haven't you a whole turkey ? " 

" Never had one in my life," said the poor little girl. 



62 BENEVOLENCE. 

" Then you shall have this one/^ said the little lady 
with the muff. " Mr. Martin, Pve got some money 
in my savings bank at home ; and my papa said I 
could do just as I wanted to with it, and I^ni going to 
buy the turkey for this little girl." 

The poor little girPs eyes grew so very large you 
wouldn't have known them. " I shall love you always, 
so much, so very, very much ; and I'll go home for 
Foxy to help. Foxy is my brother, and I know we 
can carry him.'' 

I haven't room to tell you all about it; but the 
poor little girl got her turkey, and papa his bill. 

" What's this," said he ; ^* another turkey, eighteen 
pounds; $3.60?" 

^^ That's all right," said the little girl who had the 
muff. ^^ I bought him, and gave him to a poor little 
girl who never ate one ; and the money is in my iron 
bank." — New York Weekly Tribune, 



A HARD BATTLE. 

" A box, a box for Reeve and Marcia ! '^ exclaimed 
papa, as he opened the mail from the north. ^^ And 
all the way from Chicago, too, and from Aunt Emma, 
I do believe." 

When the box was opened, there, in a nest of soft 
white cotton, lay two large eggs, ornamented in beau- 
tiful colors. And, wonderful to tell, these eggs had 
covers which, when lifted up, showed them to be full 
of sugar-plums. But these lovely boxes were very 



BENEVOLENCE. 6S 

frail ; and, in their long, rough journey, one of the 
covers was badly crushed. 

^^ Sister can have that ; I'll have the good one,'' 
said the little boy at once. 

He was looked at with surprise, for he had always 
soemed a generous little fellow. 

" My dear," asked mamma, " would you do so 
selfish, so unmanly a thing as that ? Go away, and 
think about it." 

" I don't wish to think about it. I don't wish to 
think about it," he replied excitedly. " I want the 
good one." 

After that, no more was said. He began to walk 
about the room ; his face was flushed, and he looked 
very unhappy. If he chanced to come near papa, 
papa did not seem to see him, he was so busy reading 
his newspaper. 

After walking awhile, he v/ent to the other side of 
the room where mamma was bathing and dressing his 
little sister. He was very fond of his mamma. When 
she was sometimes obliged to punish him, as soon as it 
v/as over, he would say : 

^' YVipe my tears ! kiss me ! " 

So no w, when his dear mamma did not seem to see that 
she had a little boy any m.ore, he v/as cut to the heart. 

At last, he went into grandma's room. Now, he 
and grandma were great friends. Many happy hours 
did he spend in her lap, hearing stories ; and she 
called him her "blessed boy." But now, alas ! she 
was so busy with her knitting that she took no notice 
of him whatever. This was dreadful ! 



64 BENEVOLENCE. 

He climbed up into a chair and sat down. An evil 
spirit seemed to whisper, ^^ Don^t give up ; " and so 
he began again his miserable walk. For nearly one 
hour did this little boy fight his terrible battle with 
selfishness, until at last, he could stand it no longer. 
He came to mamma, and said in a pleasant voice : 

^^ I will take the broken one ; sister can have the 
perfect one.^' 

Then, when papa and mamma had kissed him, and 
he had rushed into grandma^s loving arms, what a 
load of unhappiness was lifted from his heart ! — Little 
Men and Women, 



"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of these little ones, ye have 
done it unto me. Verily, I say unto you, ye shall in no wise lose your 
reward" 

DIMPLE'S DINNER COMPANY. 

There was a sudden knock at the school-room door, 
a loud rat-tat, as of some one in a hurry. 

" Come in," said Miss Purviance ; and the door 
was thrown open with a bang that jarred a whole 
benchful of little girls. It was Dave Finley, a great, 
strong, rough-voiced, kindly tempered fellow, who 
hauled wood to the little town for sale. 

" See here. Miss ^ Vance,' " he said, drawing for- 
ward a little girl in a red calico dress and sun-bonnet, 
" IVe brung you Molly Smooths gal to git some larnin\ 
Moll is a powerful hand at books herself, Molly is ; 
and, spite of Bill Smooths goin' and dyin' last spring, 
and spite of there being four younger than Fan here. 



BENEVOLENCE. 65 

MolPs sot on givin' her children larnin', too. ^ Well, 
Molly/ says I, ' I kin furder you thar ; for I kin take 
that little Jenny Wren of yours to town every day oa 
my wagon 'longside of me, and glad of her company, 
too.' ^ Land, Mr. Finley,' says Molly, ' how kind you 
are ! ' ^ Well,' says I, ' we poor folks ain't got nuthin^ 
but kindness to give one 'nother: and we must be 
hard up, if we can't give that.' " 

'• Come in, Fanny," said Miss Purviance. ^' Did 
you say that her name was Fanny ? Thank you, Mr. 
Finley ; we will see about her lessons now." 

'^ All right, mum. I'll be 'long this way somewhere 
short of four 'clock to pick her up again." 

And the little stranger was given a seat near the 
stove to warm her toes, while Miss Purviance hurried 
through the interrupted recitation. 

The new scholar had need to warm her toes ; for, 
though the November frosts were sharp, her little 
brown feet were innocent of shoes and stockings, and 
the calico dress came but a stingy way down the 
plump legs. 

The little face, when the red calico sun-bonnet came 
off, was seen to be round and rosy. It seemed that 
poverty (and the Smoots were of the poorest) agreed 
with Fan's health, and spirits, too ; for she was a gay 
little witch, and soon became a favorite at Miss Pur- 
viance's school. Her seat was by Dimple Duer, and 
impulsive little Dimple was heels over head in love 
with her at once. The difference between her dainty 
laced and frilled ruffles, her silk stockings and kid 
slippers, and Fan's clean but somewhat faded calico, 
5 






^^ BENEVOLENCE. 

her bare feet aud sunburnt hands, seemed not to strike 
either of the little girls, who became devoted friends. 

" Mother/^ said Dimple one Friday morning, stop- 
ping in the midst of her breakfast of waffles and 
honey, "can^t I have a dinner party?'' 

^^ Perhaps so,'' said the mother, smiling at her little 
iri's serious face. ^' Whom will you invite?" 
How many could I have, mother ? " 

" Oh, four or five, I suppose," answered Mrs. Duer. 

" Now, mother," Dimple said with great earnest- 
ness, " wouldn't you just as lief I should have one 
little girl five times as five little girls one time ? " 

There was a laugh all around the table at this conun- 
drum, but Dimple waited eagerly for an answer. 
^^ Dimple," said papa, " what little girl do you want 
to invite to dinner five times ? " 

" Why, papa," she said gravely, " Fanny Smoot 
brings her dinner to school every day ; and it's hardly 
ever anything but a piece of corn-bread and a potato. 
She says sometimes her mother can give her two po- 
tatoes, and sometimes a little piece of fat bacon." 

Dimple's voice was trembling a little, and nobody 
at the table laughed now. 

"You shall have your dinner company, darling," said 
the mother; and her voice was not very steady either. 

So Dimple had her way, and went off to school 
happy, with a little invitation written on one of 
mother's gilt-edged cards : " Miss Dimple Duer re- 
quests the pleasure of your company to dinner on 
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday 
of next week." 



BENEVOLENCE. 67 

Of course, the invitation was accepted; and the 
next Friday, at recess, the two little girls were in 
great glee over a card found in Dimple^s pocket, 
directed to Fan, in a gentleman's bold hand : " Mr. 
Sidney Duer [that was papa] requests the pleasure of 
your company to dinner on Monday, Tuesday, AYednes- 
day, Thursday and Friday of next week/' 

And every week a different member of the family 
sent Fan a little invitation, until she had been in- 
vited by each one ; and then Dimple's turn came 
again. 

Do you think the four little Smoots envied Fan ? 
iSTo ; and I'll tell you why. There was a round brown 
woven basket on Mrs. Duer's wardrobe shelf, which 
had once belonged to her little Fanny, now in heaven. 
It had been her lunch-basket, and the sight of it made 
the mother's heart ache with thinking of the bright 
face that used to look back at her from the gate as the 
little daughter tripped to school. 

But the first week of Dimple's dinner company this 
basket was taken down, and filled from the table for 
Fan to carry home to the little ones there. She never 
forgot to bring it back the next morning, and it never 
failed to travel home with her again the same day 
after school. 

'' Mother," said observant little Dimple one night, 
from her cot in the corner, " what makes you look so 
teary, sometimes, when you are filling the broy/n 
basket for the little Smoots ? " 

The mother came over and kissed the rosy face on 
the pillow. " Dimple," she said softly, " I count 



68 BENEVOLENCE. 

them your little angel sister's dinner company." — 
Elizabeth P. Allen, in Canadian Baptist. 

How happy it often makes us to make others happy ! 
Dimple by her benevolence not only made herself 
and little Fan happy, but all the members of both 
families. Dimple did not seem to notice how Fan 
was dressed. One can not always be judged by his 
dress. 



«-THE PENNY YE MEAN TO GIE." 

There's a funny tale of a stingy man 

Who was none too good, but might have been worse, 
Who went to his church on a Sunday night, 

And carried along his well filled purse. 

When the sexton came with the begging plate 
The church was but dim with the candles' light ; 

The stingy man, fumbling all tliro' his purse, 
Chose a coin by touch, and not by sight. 

It's an odd thing, now, that guineas should be 

So like unto pennies in shape and size. 
'I'll gie a penny," the stingy man said ; 
" The poor must not gifts of pennies despise." 

The penny fell down with a clatter and ring. 

And back in his seat leaned the stingy man. 
' The world is so full of the poor," he thought, 
" I can't help them all. I give what I can." 

Ha ! ha! how the sexton smiled, to be sure, 
To see the gold guinea fall in the plate! 

Ha ! ha ! how the stingy man's heart was wrung, 
Perceiving his blunder — but just too late! 



BENEVOLENCE. 69 

" No matter," he said ; " in the Lord's account 
That guinea of gold is set down to me. 
They lend to Him who give to the poor ; 
It will not so bad an investment be." 

" Na, na, mon," the chuckling sexton cried out, 
" The Lord is na cheated ; He kens thee well ; 
He knew it was only by accident I 

That out o' thy finger the guinea fell. 

" He keeps an account, na doubt, for the puir; 
But in that account He'll set down to thee 
Na mair o' that golden guinea, my mon, 
Than the one bare penny ye mean to gie." 

There's a comfort, too, in the little tale — 

A serious side as well as a joke — 
A comfort for all the generous poor, 

In the comical words the sexton spoke; 

A comfort to know that the good Lord knows 

How generous we really desire to be, 
And will give us credit in His account 

For all the pennies we long " to gie." H. H. 

Many persons who are unable to give are more 
benevolent than the rich. It is not always the amount 
that counts, but the spirit in which it was given. 



A WAIF'S VIEW OF WEALTH. 

A little street waif was once at the house of a great 
lady, and the childish eyes that had to look so sharply 
after daily bread were dazzled by signs of splendor on 
every hand. '^ Can you get everything you want?" 
the child asked the mistress of the mansion. '^ Yes, 
I think so," was the reply. '* Can you buy anything 



70 BENEVOLENCE. 

you'd like to have ?" The lady answered, " Yes.'' 
And the child, who was of a meditative turn of mind, 
looked at her half pityingly, and said, wonderingly, 
" DonH you find it dull f To the little keen mind, 
accustomed to live bird-like from day to day, and to 
rejoice over a little supply with the delight born of 
rarity, the aspect of continual plenty, and desires all 
gratified by possession, contained an idea of monotony 
that seemed almost wearisome. Many an owner of a 
well-filled purse has found life " dull," and pro- 
nounced in the midst of luxury that all things are 
vanity; but the hand that knows how wisely to dis- 
tribute and scatter abroad the bounty possessed will 
never be without interest in life- -will never miss the 
sunshine that abides for kind and unselfish hearts. — 
The Quiver. 

When those who have plenty find it dull, let them 
help some truly v/orthy and needy person. They will 
then get great pleasure out of their wealth, and besides 
make others happy. 



"Castihy bread upon the waters : for thou shalt find it after many days." — 

Eccl. xi, 2. 

THE MISSION OF A DOLL AND TOP. 

A TFvUE STORY. 

A short time before Col. Taylor's battle with Alli- 
gator and his warriors, a family by the name of Avery 
went from Pennsylvania to join the white settlers in 
Florida. 

For some time after they had taken possession of 



BEKEVOLENCE. 71 

their new home, their relation with the Seminoles was 
most friendly. The Indians visiting them frequently, 
they became accustomed to their savage ways, and soon 
learned to trust them. 

At length these friendly visits ceased entirely, and 
for a long period not an Indian crossed the red man'.i 
line. 

Mr. Avery was not troubled by the circumstance ; 
but his young wife grew nervous regarding the change^ 
fearing that the wild men of the woods might meditate 
war. 

One day, when Mr. Avery was absent, Mrs. Avery 
was much perplexed by the suddeif appearance of four 
canoes laden with the treacherous Seminoles. They 
landed and approached the house in single file ; but, 
as they drew nearer and nearer, she was greatly relieved 
bydiscoveringthatthepartyconsisted wholly of women 
and children. Assured that it was no war band, she 
went out to meet them, and soon discovered, from their 
imperfect English, the object of their visit. 

The Seminole braves had gone on a long hunt, and 
the scanty store of provisions they had left behind 
them had been consumed by the forest fires. Even the 
rude wigwams that made up their little hamlet had 
been burned up, and the poor squaws and papooses 
were without food or shelter. 

Mrs. Avery, assisted by her negro servants, spread 
an abundance of good, wholesome food upon the grass, 
and watched, with keen interest, the half-famished 
people satisfy their hunger. 

There was one sick child among the number that 



72 BENEVOLENCE. 

touched her mother-heart most deeply. For it she 
prepared delicacies to tempt its appetite ; for it was 
such dainties it needed more than medicine. Her two 
little children, Willie and Meta, ransacked the house 
for presents for the little papooses, and scarcely a red 
child left the premises without a keepsake, even if it 
were only a brass button. 

Meta took a great fancy to the little sick baby, and 
begged to be allowed to give it her new doll. The 
Indian child was delighted Avith her treasure, while 
her mother could not find words to express her 

joy. ^ 

Wishing to share in the blessedness of giving, Willie 
brought his top, and bestowed it upon a boy near his 
own age. After remaining all night, the party took 
leave of the family, and, as the visit was not repeated, 
Mrs. Avery concluded that the hunters had been suc- 
cessful in the quest of game. 

Soon after this the long peace between the Semi- 
noles and the whites was broken by the outrages of 
the tribe. 

Some months after the trouble began, Mr. Avery 
spied two Seminole warriors approaching his house 
unarmed. He went to meet them, but neither of them 
could speak a word of English. However, they shook 
hands with him, and then proceeded to make certain 
cabalistic marks upon the house. This done, they went 
back to their canoes, and no more was seen of them. 

"What does this all mean?" asked Mrs. Avery, 
when her husband returned. 

" It means that clouds are gathering over the white 



BENEVOLENCE. 7S 

man's head, but that we are safe from all danger," he 
replied, feelingly. 

" How do you know?'' questioned his wife. 

^' They made me understand this by their gesticula- 
tions, which could be interpreted no other way/' was 
his assuring answer. 

*^ Oh, yes ! " she replied, with a glance at the chil- 
dren. " The doll and the top and the bright buttons 
are all pleading for us in the dark forest." 

^^ That is it," replied her husband. " The Indians- 
never forget a kindness, and you and the children have 
saved our home and our lives." 

A dreadful war followed ; and tragedy after tragedy- 
was perpetrated by the treacherous Seminoles upon the- 
white settlers, but no harm befell the Averys. Time 
after time, news of the atrocities of the cruel foes 
reached their ears, but not an Indian ever ventured in 
sight of their plantation. In the early spring Mr.. 
Avery was prostrated with a low fever, and the over- 
sight of the servants fell upon Mrs. Avery. 

One day, when she was engaged in directing the 
transplanting of a young orange grove, she was hor- 
rified at discovering her two little children Avere adrift 
in an old canoe that had lain by the river's edge for 
months. 

The little ones had been playing in it, as was their 
custom, and somehow the crazy old thing had broken 
from its mooring and was helplessly floating down the 
current. 

Mrs. Avery was a brave woman, and with all the 
speed she could make jumped into a canoe that lay- 



74 BENEVOLENCE. 

hard by and started in hot pursuit ; but, row as she 
would, the children gained upon her, and soon she 
beheld with dismay that her darlings were struggling 
in the water. With a thrill of horror, she saw their 
.sunny heads disappear beneath the Vv^ater. They rose, 
and sank again ; and when she was about to give up 
in despair three dusky forms ran down to the river 
from the other side, and, springing into the swift tide, 
struggled fiercely with the turbulent water until they 
reached the spot where the children had disappeared. 
The next moment they had seized the little limp 
forms as they came up to the surface for the last time, 
and carried them triumphantly to shore. The poor 
mother, fearing that a worse fate than drowning had 
overtaken her treasures, hurried on, determined to 
secure them or die with them. 

Before she reached the shore she discovered that it 
was lined with Indians, who seemed to be watching 
her movements with intense interest. Some of the 
men assisted her in landing, and the women clustered 
eagerly around her, trying to make her understand 
that they were true friends. 

Among those who took her hand were many of the 
same women she had fed ; while the one who had car- 
ried the sick child upon that trip held up her papoose, 
now v>^ell and strong, exultingly. The child still 
clung to Metals doll, which at once explained all the 
kindness lavished upon her and her children. 

The redskins sent a deputation of their braves to 
accompany them to the plantation, and then, with the 
assurance of further protection, the warriors returned 
to the forest. 



BENEVOLENCE. 75 

^^ I told you that they would not forget Willie's top 
or Metals doll/' exclaimed Mr. Avery, after he had 
listened to his wife's pathetic story of the double es- 
cape of their precious children. 

" And you were right/' she answered. " A good 
action always brings a sure reward." 

" Blessed are they who sow beside all 
B. U. C, in the YouthJs Evangelist. 



THOUGHTFaL BENEVOLENCE. 

This would be a glad v/orld if every creature in it 
v/ere to do all he could to lessen pain and increase 
happiness. 

It is astonishing how much suffering can be pre- 
vented by a little attention of the right kind at the 
right moment. An audience of three thousand people 
may be kept in misery for two hours if the janitor 
does not watch the thermometer; or a whole play- 
ground full of well-disposed boys may be tormented 
by one half-civilized bully. On the other hand, a 
large party goes off beautifully, simply because the 
director of the entertainment has taken thoughtful 
pains to have it go off so. 

Some people seem to have a lovely genius for dif- 
fusing happiness around them. They are themselves 
so engaging that only to be near them is a delight. 
Most of us, however, if we would enjoy the happiness 
of making others happy, must try to do it. We must 
avoid and remove causes of pain ; we must invent and 
provide the means of enjoyment. 



76 BENEVOLENCE. 

The most usual cause of failure in this particular 
comes from not thinking. The evening lamp is dis- 
tressing a pair of aged eyes; a thoughtful person 
quietly places a screen so as to shelter them from the 
piercing light. 

"Why didn't I think of that?" whispers the on- 
looker to himself. Thinking of it is the rare accom- 
plishment. Anybody can perform the trifles of house- 
hold benevolence ; the merit lies in not forgetting to 
do them. 

Mr. Andrew Carnegie, one of the iron kings of 
Pennsylvania, mentions in his now celebrated article 
in The Foy^um two facts which illustrate what a little 
thought may do to mitigate the human lot. One of 
the workmen in the employment of his company hap- 
pened to allude to the increased cost of groceries 
through having to buy on credit, wages being paid 
only once a month. 

" Well,'' said Mr. Carnegie, " why can not we over- 
come that by paying every two weeks ?" 

" We did not like to ask it," replied the man, " be- 
cause we have always understood that it would cause 
much trouble ; but if you do that, it would be worth 
an advance of five per cent, in our wages." 

The change was made at once, and now the custom 
prevails in many manufacturing centers of paying 
wages every week. Millions of men have desired 
that for sixty years. A little thoughtful good nature 
would have sufficed to bestow the boon two genera- 
tions ago. 

From another man at the same interview Mr. Car- 



BENEVOLENCE. 77 

negie was surprised to learn that poor men who bonght 
a few bushels of coal at a time paid just twice the 
price which his company paid. One moment's kindly 
thought remedied this grievance. 

^^ How easy for us/' said the president of the com- 
pany, ^^ to deliver coal to our men in small quantities 
at cost ! '' 

So said, so done. 

And as such ideas are exceedingly contagious, a 
very large number of ironmasters now provide their 
men with coal on the same terms. 

There are few things more catching than wise be- 
nevolence. It beats the scarlet fever. Despite all 
appearances to the contrary, the deepest thing in man 
is the love he bears his fellov/-man. — YouWs Com- 
panion. 



WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR? 

Thy neighbor? — It is he whom thou 
Hast power to aid and bless, 

Whose aching heart or burning brow 
Thy soothing hand may press. 

Thy neighbor?— 'Tis the fainting poor 
Whose eye with want is dim, 

Whom hunger sends from door to door. 
Go thou and succor him. 

Thy neighbor? — 'Tis that weary man, 
Whose years are at their brim. 

But low with sickness, cares and pain. 
Go thou and comfort him. 



78 BENEVOLENCE. 

Thy neighbor? — 'Tis the heart bereft 

Of every earthly gem ; 
Widow and orphan, helpless left — 

Go thou and shelter them. 

Where'er thou meet'st a human form 

Less favored than thy own, 
Remember, 'tis thy neighbor worm, 

Thy brother or thy son. 

Cowderifs Moral Lessons. 



" It is more blessed to give than to receiveJ^ — Acts xx, 35. 
PROVIDENCE AND THE WOOD-PILE. 

One snowy Saturday night, years ago, when the 
wood-pile of the Alcott household was very low, a 
neighbor's child came to beg a little wood, as " the 
baby y/as very sick, and father off on a spree with 
his wages.'' 

There was a baby, too, in the Alcott household ; 
and the storm was wild, and the Sabbath was coming 
between that night and the chance of more wood. 
For once, Mrs. Alcott hesitated ; but the serene Sage 
of Concord looked out, undismayed, into the wild and 
wintry storm. 

"Give half our stock," said he, resolutely, "and 
trust to Providence. Wood will come, or the weather 
will moderate." 

His wife laughed, and answered cheerfully, " Well, 
at any rate, their need is greater than ours ; and, if 
our half gives out, we can go to bed and tell stories." 

So a good half of the wood went to the poor neigh- 
bor. Later on in the evening the storm increased, 



BENEVOLENCE. 7^ 

and the family council decided to cover up the fire to 
keep it^ and go to bed. Just then came a knock at 
the door ; and, lo ! it was the farmer who usually sup- 
plied Mr. Alcott with wood. 

He had started to go into Boston with his load, but 
the storm so drove in his face, and the snow so drifted 
in his path, that it had driven him back ; and now, if 
he might unload his load there, it would save him 
taking it home again, and he " s'posed they'd be want- 
ing some soon.'^ 

Of course, his proposition was gladly accepted ; and, 
as the farmer went off to the wood-shed, the triumph- 
ant Sage of Concord turned to his wife with a wise 
look, which much impressed his children, and said : 

" Didn^t I tell you wood would come, if the weather 
did not moderate ? '' — Youth's Companion, 

It might be interesting for the pupils to know that 
the ^^ Sage of Concord'^ referred to above is the, father 
of the author of " Little Women '' and '' Little Men/' 
His willingness to divide shows one of his many noble 
traits. 



80 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 



CHAPTER IV. 

COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 

Webster says that courage is that firmness of spirit 
and swell of soul which meets danger without fear. 
Bravery is daring and impetuous courage, like that of 
one who has the reward continually in view, and dis- 
plays his courage in daring acts. Courage and bravery 
are important elements in a character. Sometimes 
boys get a false notion of what they really are. The 
following selections, when well studied, will teach 
true courage and bravery. An informal talk loith the 
pupils, after reading the stories, is very valuable : 

DARE AND DO. 

Dare to think though others frown ; 

Dare in words your thoughts express ; 
Dare to rise though oft cast down ; 

Dare the wronged and scorned to bless. 

Dare from custom to depart ; 

Dare the priceless pearl possess ; 
Dare to wear it next your heart; 

Dare, when others curse, to bless. 

Dare forsake what you deem wrong; 

Dare to walk in wisdom's way ; 
Dare to give where gifts belong; 

Dare God's precepts to obey. 

Do what conscience says is right ; 

Do what reason says is best ; 
Do with all your mind and might; 

Do your duty, and be blest. 

Cowden/s Moral Lessons. 



COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 81 

HER HELP. 

General Hancock relates the following pathetic inci- 
dent, which occurred at Gettysburg, just before his 
famous charge: Passing near the outskirts of his 
lines, he came upon a child, only half-a-dozen years or 
so of age, and hardly yet old enough to speak plainly. 
She somehow had strayed near to the Union pickets, 
bringing an old rifle heavier than she could well carry 
without showing that she was overburdened. When 
she saw General Hancock she held the load in her arms 
a little higher and fairly ran into his arms crying : 
" My papa^s dead, but here's my papa's gun ! '' 
There was something like a tear in General Han- 
cock's eye as he recited the heroic little incident. "I 
never recall that brave chit of a child's offering to our 
cause," he said, " without feelings of deepest rever- 
ence. Her half-lisped words voiced a sentiment that 
was sublime." 



COURAGE. 

Be free ! be free ! let no cold chain 

Of worldly prudence bind thee ; 
What didst thou bring? Thou'lt go again 

And leave all things behind thee. 

Face doubts and foes ; why should'st thou flee? 

Stand fast, and do thy duty ; 
And the whole universe for thee 

Shall blossom into beauty. 



82 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 

Be true! be true ! not just the same 

Are we in form and feature; 
A different trial and different name 

Is given each heaven-born creature. 

True to tliy God, through all thy years, 

Let nothing less content thee ; 
Confide to Him thy hopes, thy fears, 

For He, and no man, sent thee. 

Be brave ! be brave ! it is no wrong 

To stand with none beside thee ; 
If thou art fearless, true and strong, 

What evil can betide thee? 

S. A, Pye, YouilCs Companion, 



A BRAVE LADY. 

!N"ews comes from Sydney of a gallant deed done by 
a Mrs. Campbell. She was a passenger in a steamer 
from Hong Kong to a Queensland port. Owing to a 
sudden lurch of the ship, a little boy, four years old, 
of whom she was very fond, fell overboard. Except- 
ing Mrs. Campbell and the man at the wheel, pas- 
sengers and crew were at dinner when the accident 
occurred. Y/ithout removing any of her clothing or 
waiting for a life-belt, and merely saying to the man, 
" Don't tell the child's mother," Mrs. Campbell sprang 
into the water, swam to the boy, arid held him up till 
both were rescued, the steamer having in the mean- 
time been stopped and a boat lowered. Neither poor 
boy nor brave lady was much the worse for the acci- 
dent. This true anecdote shows the advantage of 
being taught to swim. 



COUEAGE AND BRAVERY. 83 

PERCY'S PERIL. 

" You don't dare to take a sail in that tub," said 
Jim, one of three boys standing beside a mill-pond. . 

" Yes, I dare,'' returned Percj ; ^^ but a tub isn't 
made to sail in, isn't a boat." 

" No, you don't dare set your foot in the tub," said 
Ned. 

" What a coward ! " cried Ned and Jim together. 
" You don't dare ! Mother's baby knows he don't 
dare ! " 

Percy could not bear that. It is a pity he did not 
say to those rough boys, " I will not be ^ dared ' into 
doing wrong ; " but, rather than be laughed at, he 
clambered into the tub at the water's edge. He did 
not try to get out when Jim and Ned pushed the tub 
from shore. He meant to show how daring he was. 
The tub turned partly around, rocked for a moment, 
then the current drew it farther out and down toward 
the mill-dam. Even Jim and Ned were scared when 
they saw what they had done. One wrong step led 
to another. The boys who had called Percy a coward 
were too cowardly to give an alarm. Afraid of being 
blamed, they ran away as fast as they could. They 
told each other never, as long as they lived, to tell 
how little Percy was drowned. Percy had the courage 
to sit still, else the tub would have tipped over at 
once. He cried for help, but the noise of the falls 
¥7as ten times louder than a child's voice. He was 
nearing the mill-dam. Swifter and swifter the water 
bore him toward it. How he wished he had dared 



84 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 

to do right ! Oh, if he could only say good-by to his 
mother ! 

The miller looked out of his window. He saw the 
tub and the child in it, sailing fast to his death. An 
instant more, and there was no miller in the mill to 
pick up the bag that was spilling its grain on the 
floor. Down the bank and into his boat leaped the 
man. He struck the oars into the water, rowing fast 
and strong. Would he be able to save the boy ? Loud 
shouts were heard now. Others had discovered the 
danger. Half the village was running toward the 
river. Some shouted to cheer the only man who 
could possibly do any good : " Hurrah ! you'll have 
him yet ! Now for it ! Good ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! '' 
But it appeared more likely that boat and all would 
be hurled over the fall than the boat would be saved. 
Suddenly, a glad shout arose. The tub did indeed 
go over the dam, but it was empty. Almost at the 
edge, the boy had been snatched from it into the boat, 
and the oars were bendiog again with their hard labor. 
It was all that the man could do to get the boat out- 
side that fatal sweep of the v/aters. Everybody said 
it was a narrow escape. Little Percy's face, when 
they gave him to his weeping mother, was nearly as 
white as the foam at the foot of the falls. He had 
h^arned a lesson he would never forget. What was 
h?—The Watchman. 

Little Percy was a coward. So were the boys who 
got him into the tub. The man who rescued the boy 
showed great courage. 



COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 85 

BRAVE BETH. 

Little Beth lived in a beautiful home on the bank 
of a river ; and she had all the nice clothes and books 
and playthings that she wanted, and a kind father and 
mother who loved her dearly. Sometimes, she thought 
she was the happiest child in the world, except her 
little brother, Rob, Baby Bob, Avhom everybody loved 
for his sunny temper, cunning ways, and sweet, lisp- 
ing baby talk. 

When Bob was two years old, one summer after- 
noon, Beth came running home from school, and went 
in search of him. for their usual romp. Mamma Avas 
busy, and said he was not with her, but had gone into 
the garden a little while ago. So Beth went on into 
the garden, where she found his little wagon and his 
hat lying out under the tree ; but she could see noth- 
ing of Bob. Then she ran down the garden walk, 
calling, ^^ Bob ! Bob! where are you. Baby Bob?^' 
But no sweet little voice answered her. When she 
reached the farther end of the walk, she found that 
the gate which was always kept fastened had been 
carelessly left open. Passing through, her heart stood 
still at the sight before her. A little back of the house 
ran the railroad, with a long, high bridge over the 
river. Some planks had been laid along the middle 
of the bridge for the convenience of persons crossing 
on foot, and away on this narrow walk, half way 
across the bridge, was Baby Bob. In one hand he 
carried a little basket, and in the other a little stick 
which he was using for a cane. There he was trudg- 



86 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 

ing along, as unconscious of danger as if he had been 
walking across the nursery floor. 

It was no wonder that Beth's heart stood still, for 
that first glance had also shown her a train coming up 
the track — coming, it seemed to her, faster than train 
ever came before. And it was so near. 

Beth gave one scream, hoping that her mother 
might hear it, and then started down the track. It 
seemed as if her feet had wings. She knew that she 
had never run so fast before ; but run as fast as she 
could, the train ran faster. She reaches the bridge, 
and darts along the narrow walk. She knows that 
she is putting her own life in danger, l)ut she does not 
hesitate. She does not even think that she is per- 
forming a heroic act, but only that her darling little 
brother is in great peril, and that she must save 
him, if she can. Even Baby Rob at last seems aware 
of his danger, as he notices the panting monster rush- 
ing down upon him. 

He turns and begins to run as fast as he can, and, 
seeing Beth coming he reaches out his little arms to 
her, and cries : 

" Take Rob, Beth ! Rol)'s Yraid ! '' 

And Beth clasps him in her arms, and feels his soft 
little arms around her neck ; but she also feels the 
bridge tremble beneath her. The engine has reached it. 
She knows that she can not reach the other end of the 
bridge v/ith her burden ; yet, even now, she might 
escape, had she nothing to carry. But the thought of 
saving herself and leaving poor, helpless little Rob 
there to be crushed to death never enters her mind. 



COUEAGE AND BRAVERY. 87 

She can almost feel the hot breath of the merciless 
giant. Think quick^ little Beth, is there no way of 
escape? One way seems possible to her; she will 
try it. And, running to the end of one of the ties, 
she loosens the little arms that cling around her neck ; 
and, kissing the soft baby cheek, she says, " Good-by, 
Rob ! ^' and drops the little burden in the stream be- 
low. She hopes that some one will come and save 
him before he drowns. 

And, now, she will m^ake a brave effort for her own 
life. So, clasping her hands over one of the ties, she 
drops down with her body hanging over the stream. If 
she can only hang on this way till the train has passed, 
she may yet be saved. But the sharp edges cut her 
wrists, and the tie trembles under the weight of the 
cars, and with the roaring in her ears she grows faint 
and dizzy, and loosens her hold and drops into the 
dark water beneath. 

The engineer had at last seen the brave act of the 
little girl ; and, as quickly as possible, he stopped his 
train and went back to rescue the children. One man, 
throv/ing off his coat, swam in and easily brought 
Baby Rob to shore ; but it was some time before Beth's 
body was borne by strong arms to her father's house. 
For a long time, loving ones worked over their un- 
conscious forms to win them back to life. At length, 
Baby Rob opened his eyes, and, trying to lift up his 
weak little arms, cried ; ^' Take Rob, Beth ! Rob\s 
Afraid.'' And for weeks this cry rang in the mother's 
ears as she nursed the little sufferer through the de- 
lirium of fever. But Rob called in vain ; for the 



88 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 

loving arms, which would so gladly have taken him, 
were motionless forever. Little Beth was dead. They 
folded the poor bruised hands over the brave little 
heart, and covered them with flowers ; and, when they 
laid her under the maple in the quiet graveyard, they 
wrote on her headstone: "Our Beth. Aged ten.^^ 
" Greater love hath no man than this, that one should 
lay down her life for her friends.^^ — Christian at Work. 



A BRAVE WOMAN. 
A TRUE STORY. 

Nearly a century ago, when West Virginia, thinly 
settled and cleared, was a favorite fighting ground of 
the Indian tribes, there lived near the Kanawha Falls 
a settler of Dutch extraction named Van Bibber, a 
man of some note and distinction in those early times. 
His homestead stood below the falls ; and opposite to 
it, on the other side of the river, was an overhanging 
rock of immense size, jutting out about a hundred feet 
over the seething whirlpool caused by the falls, and 
rising to nearly one hundred feet above the water. 
This rock was once the scene of a remarkable advent- 
ure which exhibits what woman's love will give her 
courage to achieve for the defense and rescue of those 
to whom she is united in the tenderest bonds of affec- 
tion. 

Van Bibber was one day returning from an expedi- 
tion into the dense forest on the opposite side of the 
river to his home, when he unfortunately crossed the 
path of a party of Indians returning from some dis- 



COURAGE AND BRAVEEY. 89' 

tant fray, and dressed in the full glories of the war- 
path — paint, feathers and wampum. A moment more^ 
and they were in hot pursuit after him ; and the set- 
tler, though possessed of great agility and being a 
swift runner, found himself unable to gain the bank 
of the river before the flying steps of the savages had 
enabled them to double on him ; and, cutting off all 
approach to the water, he was driven to the sum- 
mit of the overhanging rock, where, by the aid of 
his rifle, he kept the enemy for a few moments at 
bay. 

He stood up bravely in full view of the savages 
both above and below, who yelled with triumph at 
the prospect of his speedy capture. Across the river 
before him lay his home ; and as he looked he saw his 
wife emerge from the house, startled by the noise, 
with her babe nestled in her arms. She stood as if 
petrified with terror and amazement ; helpless, as he 
thought, to render assistance. Suddenly, borne upon; 
the light breeze, to his ear came the clear tones of her 
voice : '^ Leap into the water and meet me !^' And, 
laying her babe on the grass, she flew to the little 
landing, seized the oars, and sprang into the skiff 
alone. Well for her that her arms were strong, and 
that so many of their hours had been passed on the 
sunny river which flowed, with hundreds of eddies in 
its rapid current, past the walls of their home. 

There is no indecision or weakness in the steady^ 
firm stroke of the oars which bears her rapidly on 
her dangerous course. Her husband must be rescued, 
and there is no human arm but hers to save him* 



:90 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 

^ferved by love to double exertion, the brave woman 
steadily iiears the middle of the river. 

^' Drop lower, wife.^' 

" Lower yet f^ and with the last words Van Bibber 
sprang from the crag, and descended like an arrow 
into the water. 

"With every pulse beating wildly, the devoted wife 
rested on her oars to see him rise to the surface, while 
her frail canoe danced like a cork on top of the swirl- 
ing waves. Ages seemed to pass in that awful sus- 
pense. Had the fall injured him? Had he struck 
the bowlders which lay, as she well knew, in multi- 
tudes under the water, carried down from the falls 
above? Would he never rise? Her eyes tried in 
vain to penetrate the depths of the water, and in an 
agony she swept the canoe still further down the 
stream. A moment more, and his head rose suddenly 
near her, and all her mind was directed to helping 
him to climb into the shelter of the canoe, amid the 
shower of arrows and shot which the baffled Indians 
poured upon their escaping foe. 

No word was exchanged between them. Though 
her husband was rescued, they had not yet reached 
the opposite shore ; and the brave woman saw that, 
after the perilous leap and the sudden immersion in 
the ice-cold water. Van Bibber was more dead than 
alive. Everything depended on her strength being 
maintained till she could attain the bank ; and, with 
a heart which almost stood still with fear, the devoted 
wife bent once more to the oars with her whole powers 
of mind and body. God be thanked ! she was sue- 



COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 91 

cessful ; and after their desperate adventure the ex- 
hausted husband and wife landed on the spot whence 
she had started on her perilous voyage^ where the 
babe still lay, crowing and laughing, in the last rays 
of the afternoon sun. 

Two or three neighbors, who had been gathered by 
the reports of the rifles, pulled the canoe to the sands, 
and helped to lift Van Bibber to his feet. He could 
not walk, so they laid him on the green sward by his 
babe ; and, falling down by his side in her utter ex- 
haustion and thankfulness, the overexcited nerves of 
the woman found vent in a wild and uncontrolled fit 
of weeping. 

^^ Just what any other woman would have done,^^ 
says some young reader, with a little air of surprise 
and disdain. 

Exactly so, my dear. But then, you see, another 
woman might have cried at the wrong time — before 
instead of after the event narrated in my story ; and 
then Van Bibber would never have been rescued from 
his deadly peril, and the baby might never have lived 
to be a grandfather, and have related the story as I 
have told it to you. 

And if you ever go there they will show you the 
jutting crag, which is called Van Bibber's Rock to 
this day. 

A BRAVE LITTLE REBEL, 

If Cynthia Smith walked the earth to-day she 
would be a great-great-grandmother ; but at the time 
of this story — 1780 — she was only a small girl, who 



92 COUEAGE AND BRAVERY. 

lived in South Carolina — twelve years old, and as 
stanch a rebel as you could have found in all America. 

When she was only five years old her little heart 
had beaten hard at the story of the ^^ Boston Tea 
Party," at which a v/hole ship-load of tea had been 
emptied into the harbor because George III. insisted 
on a threepenny tax. 

^^ TheyVe burned the stuff in Annapolis, and it's 
spoiling in the Charleston cellars, bless the Lord !'' 
said Mr. Smith. 

"Hurrah V cried John and Jack and William and 
Ebenezer, Cynthia's brothers. '^ Hurrah V echoed 
Cynthia, as if she understood all about it. 

The following year, when England shut up Boston 
harbor with her *^ Stamp Act," never a bit of rice did 
Cynthia get to eat ; for her father sent his whole har- 
vest North, as did many a Southerner. 

After that John went to Massachusetts to visit 
Uncle Hezekiah, and the next June they heard that 
he had been shot dead at the battle of Banker Hill. 

Cynthia wept hot tears on her coarse homespun 
apron ; but she dried them in a sort of strange delight 
when Jack insisted on joining the Virginia Riflemen. 

" It's ' Liberty or Death' we have marked on our 
shirts, and it's ' Liberty or Death' we have burned 
into our hearts," Jack wrote home, at which his 
mother wrung her hands, and his father smiled 
grimly. 

" Just wait, you two other boys," said the latter ; 
" we'll have it hot and heavy at our own doors before 
we're through." 



COUKAGE AND BRAVERY. 93 

That was because Will and Ebenezer wished to 
follow in Jack's footsteps. But Cynthia had little 
time for patriotic yearnings. She helped to w^eave 
cloth for gowns and trousers, and to spin and knit 
yarn for stockings. This kept her very busy until 
1776, when two great events took place. One was 
the signing of the Declaration of Independence ; the 
other was the birth of a red and white calf in Mr. 
Smith's barn. Which was of the most importance to 
Cynthia it is hard to say. 

To be sure, she tingled from head to foot at her 
father's ringing tones as he read from a sheet of paper 
some one had given him, '' All men are born free and 
equal ;" but she also went wild with joy when her 
father said, ^' You may keep that bossy for your own 
if you'll agree to raise her, Cynthy." 

Cynthia took the calf into her inmost heart, and 
she named her ^' Free-'n'-equal." 

Free-'n'-equal was Cynthia's only playmate, for no 
children lived within six miles. As the calf grew 
into a cow the more intimate and loving were the 
two. To Free-'n'-equal did Cynthia confide her se- 
crets. She even consulted her as to the number of 
stitches to be put on a pair of wristlets for Jack, who, 
in the winter of 1777-78, had .gone with General 
Washington to Pennsylvania. Alas ! Jack never 
wore those wristlets. He was one of the many who 
lay down to die of cold and hunger in that awful 
Valley Forge. 

Quite as much did she share her joy when Cynthia 
came flying to the barn with the joyful tidings that 
British Burgoyne had surrendered at Saratoga. 



94 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 

Again the joy vanished, and Cynthia sobbed her 
woe into Free-'n'-equaPs sympathizing ear when Sir 
Henry Clinton captured Charleston. 

But she sobbed even more a few months later. 
^^ For General Gates has come down to South Caro- 
lina, Free-'n'-equal, and father and Will and Ebcnezer 
have gone to fight in his army." 

Free-'n'-equal shook her head solemnly at that ; 
and her long, low " Moo-o" said plainly enough, 
" What's to become of the rest of us, my poor little 
mistress V^ 

" We'll take care of ourselves, that's what we'll do. 
Mother and I'll hoe the rice ; and, Free-'n'-equal, 
you've got to give more milk to keep us strong." 

^^ Trust me for that," said Free-'n'-equal's eyes. 
And she kept her promise. 

Those were dangerous days all along the Santee 
river, for Lord Cornwallis' troops v/ere roaming over 
the land and laying waste the country. But Cynthia 
was not afraid — no, not even when Lord Cornwallis 
came within three miles of the plantation. 

'' Just let those soldiers touch anything of ours, and 
see what they'll get !" said she, with ponderous dig- 
nity. 

Free-'n'-equal was perfectly sure Cynthia could 
manage the whole British army if need were, and 
munched her cud in blissful serenity. 

Oh, no ! Cynthia had no fear, even when a red-coat 
did sometimes rise above the horizon like a morning 
cloud. 

So no wonder that she was taken mightily aback 



COUKAGE AND BRAVERY. 95^ 

when, one afternoon as she came home with her bun- 
dle of sticks, her mother met her with a pale face. 

" Cynthy, they Ve been here and carried off Free'n'- 
equal.'^ 

" They ! '' gasped Cynthia. " Who ? " 

" The British soldiers. They tied a rope round her 
horns. She kicked well, but they jerked her along. 
Cynthy, what shall we do ? '^ 

Cynthia darted out of the door. Along the dusty 
road she ran, on and on — one mile, two miles, three 
miles — on and on. At last she reached Lord Corn- 
wallis^ headquarters. Never a moment did Cynthia 
pause. The sentinels challenged her in vain. She 
marched past them. Into the house, into the parlor, 
walked she. 

There sat Lord Cornwallis and some six of hi& 
officers, eating and drinking at a big table. 

Cynthia stopped at the threshold, and dropped a 
courtesy. Lord Cornwallis glanced up and saw her. 

" I am Cynthia Smith,^^ said she, gravely ; '^ and 
your men have taken, my cow, Free-^n^-equal Smithy 
and IVe come to fetch her home, if you please.'^ 

"Your cow?^^ questioned Lord Cornwallis. 

" They carried her oif by a rope,^^ said Cynthia. 

'^ Where do you live ? '' asked the British general. 

" Three miles away, along with my mother." 

" Have you no father ? " 

" One, and four brothers." 

" Where is your father ? " 

" In General Gates's army, Mr. Lord Cornwallis ? " 

"Oh, he's a rebel, is he?" 



"96 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 

'' Yes^ sir/^ said Miss Cynthia, proudly erect. 

" And where are your brothers ? '^ 
. Cynthia paused. '^ John went to heaven from the 
top of Bunker Hill/' said she, with a trembling lip. 

One of the younger officers smiled, but he stopped 
in a hurry as Lord Cornwallis's eyes flashed at him. 

" And Jack went to heaven/' proceeded Cynthia, 
softly, " out of Valley Forge.'' 

" Where are the other two ? " 

'^ In the army, Mr. Lord Cornwallis." 

"Rank rebels?" 

" Yes, they are." 

" Hum ! And you're a bit of a rebel too, I'm 
ihinking, if the truth were told." 

Miss Cynthia nodded with emphasis. 

" And yet you come here for your cow ? " said Lord 
Cornwallis. "I'll be bound she's rebel beef herself." 

Cynthia meditated. " I think she would be, if she 
had two less legs, and not quite so much horn. That 
is, she'd be rebel, but maybe they wouldn't call her 
beef then." 

Lord Cornwallis threw back his head, and laughed 
a good-natured, hearty laugh. All his officers laughed 
too. 

Miss Cynthia wondered what the fun might be ; but, 
in no wise abashed, she stood firm on her two little 
.feet, and waited until, the merriment over, they might 
see fit to return the cow. 

At last, her face began to flush a little. 

What if these fine gentlemen were making game of 
her, after all. 



COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 97 

Lord Cornwallis saw the red blood mount in her 
cheeks ; and, just because he was a real gentleman, he 
became sober instantly. " Come here, my little maid/^ 
said he. " I myself wdll see to it that your cow is 
safe in your barn to-morrow morning. And per- 
haps/*^ he added, unfastening a pair of silver knee- 
buckles which he wore, ^^you will accept these as a 
gift from one who wishes no harm to these rebels. ^^ 

She dropped a final courtesy, clasped the shining 
buckles, and out of the room she vanished, sure in her 
mind that Free-^n^-equal was her own once more. 

As for those buckles, they are this very day in the 
hands of one of Cynthia^s descendants. For there 
was a real cow and a real Miss Cynthia, as well as a 
real Lord Cornwallis. — Harper^s Young People. 



SAVING THE HERD. 

" One of the bravest things I saw in my travels," 
said a passenger from the West, " was a cowboy stop- 
ping a cattle stampede. A herd of about six or eight 
hundred had got frightened at something, and broke 
away pell-mell, with their tails in the air, and the 
bulls at the head of the procession. But the cowboy 
did not get excited at all when he saw the herd were 
.ii:oing straight for a high bluff, where they would cer- 
tainly tumble down into the canon and be killed. 
You know that when a herd like that gets to going 
they can^t stop, no matter whether they rush to death 
or not. Those in the rear crowd those ahead, and 
away they go. I wouldn't have given a dollar a head 
7 



98 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 

for that herd. But the cowboy spurred up his mus- 
tang, made a little detour, came in right in front of 
the herd, cut across their path at a right angle, and 
then galloped leisurely on to the edge of the bluff, 
halted, and looked around at that wild mass of beef 
coming right toward him. He was as cool as a cu- 
cumber, though I expected to see him killed, and was 
so excited I could not speak. Well, sir, when the 
leaders had got within a quarter of a mile of him I 
saw them try to slack up, though they could not do it 
very quick. But the whole herd seemed to want to 
stop; and when the cows and steers in the rear got 
about where the cowboy had cut across their path I 
was surprised to see them stop and commence to 
nibble grass. Then the whole herd stopped, wheeled, 
staggered back, and went to fighting for a chance to 
eat where the rear guard was. You see, that cowboy 
had opened a big bag of salt he had brought out from 
the ranch, galloped across the herd's course, and emp- 
tied the bag. Every creature sniffed that line of salt, 
and, of course, that broke up the stampede. But I 
tell you it was a queer sight to see that chap out there 
on the edge of that bluff quietly rolling a cigarette, 
when it seemed as if he'd be rolling under two hun- 
dred tons of beef in about a minute and a half.'' — - 
Christian Register. 

t 

" Love your enemies, do good to them ivhich hate you." — Luke vi, 27. 

ROSS CARSON'S COURAGE. 

Shouting, laughing, pushing against each other, the 
boys rushed out of the school-house pell-mell. 



COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 99 

" Look out, Ross Carson/^ shouted Tom Lane, in a 
tone of pretended alarm, "there's a spider on the 
pump-handle. Run, quick, it may bite you/' 

There was a roar of laughter at this would-be witty 
remark; and the eyes of a score or more thoughtless 
boys were bent upon the figure of a slender, delicate- 
looking lad who had been one of the first to get out, 
and who had approached the pump for the purpose of 
getting a drink. 

His face flushed painfully as Tom's jest fell on his 
ear; and the hand that held the tin drinking-cup 
trembled perceptibly, and his lips scarcely touched 
the water. 

"Oh, he'll stand anything rather than double up 
his little fist," cried Tom ; and, crowding close to 
Ross, he deliberately knocked the books from under 
his arm. The slender lad's face flushed at the insult, 
but he said nothing. He stooped, picked the books 
up, and then walked on again. 

He was quite aware of Tom Lane's great anxiety 
to pick a quarrrel with him, but was determined to 
give him no excuse for doing so. For Ross knew 
that he could not with safety enter into any trial of 
strength with a boy so much older than himself. His 
lungs were weak, and the doctor had said they could 
bear no strain whatever. But it was hard to be called 
a coward, to bear insults of every description without 
open resentment, to feel that he was looked upon with 
contempt by his companions, because no taunts or 
sneers could induce him to fight. And he was too 
sensitive and shy to explain to them his reasons for 



100 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 

not doing so, knowing well that his explanation would 
be greeted with ridicule and laughter. So he bore his 
various trials in silence, and not even his mother knew 
what he endured. He did not know that this for- 
bearance showed him possessed of true heroism ; for, 
like most boys, he had a strong admiration for deeds 
of daring and saw little merit in silent endurance. 

Tom Lane was the most daring boy among them 
all. He boasted that he had the coolest head, the 
strongest arm, and the greatest amount of courage of 
any fellow of his age in Hillsboro ; and none disputed 
his claim. He was always ready for a fight, and gen- 
erally came off victor in any contest. He had no 
pity for weakness, no charity for timidity, and thought 
all those who feared him fair game for his powers of 
teasing. Ross might have been fairly treated by the 
other scholars but for Tom, who was never weary of 
exciting enmity against him, and, understanding how 
to magnify the veriest trifles, was ever showing him 
up as '^ the biggest coward in Hillsboro Academy." 

But retribution was near at hand, and Tom was 
to be strangely punished for his sins in respect to 
Koss. 

A new town-hall Avas being built in Hillsboro ; and 
a very high, imposing edifice it was to be, with a 
steeple second to none. Tom Lane heard his father, 
who was the contractor for the building, say that a 
magnificent view could be obtained from this half- 
completed steeple ; and the next day, at the noon 
recess, Tom proposed to half a dozen of his young 
friends to go up and take a look for themselves. 



COUEAGE AND BE AVERY. 101 

^^ I have a pass from father," he said, " and the- car- 
penters won^t make any fuss/^ 

The ascent to the steeple was easily made, for a 
narrow, winding stairs led up to it ; and the boys soon 
attained a height that made their heads swim as they 
looked down, breathless, and saw how small appeared 
the people on the pavement below. 

"A good place for a suicide," said Tom as he 
leaned out. 

" Do be careful," said a low voice, in a tone of en- 
treaty, and, looking around, the boys saw Ross Carson 
standing near. He had come up the stairs unper- 
ceived. 

" How came you here, you little coward ? " asked 
Tom, rudely. 

" The carpenter gave me leave to come up," an- 
swered Ross, quietly. " I did not know any one was 
up here, and I was anxious to see the view. But it 
is a dangerous place." 

" It's likely you think so," sneered Tom. " You'd 
find the head of a barrel a dangerous place. As for 
me, Vd like to see the place where I wouldn't go ! 
Boys, do you see that ? " 

He pointed to a scaffolding which had been erected 
about the steeple for the use of the workmen. It 
projected several feet, and overhung the vast chasm 
below. 

" We see it ; but what of it ? " asked Louis Ray- 
mond. 

" You'll see what of it," ansv/ered Tom. '^ It's a 
jolly place to dance a hornpipe." And before his 



102 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 

companions could realize his intention^ he had climbed 
out upon the scaffolding and was walking fearlessly 
about it. 

The boys stared in sheer amazement at such reck- 
lessness, and begged him to be careful. 

But their fears for his safety only made Tom more 
anxious to show his boasted courage, and he began 
rather a feeble imitation of a sailor's hornpipe. 

'^ Wouldn^t it be a long jump to the pavement?" 
he said. 

As he spoke he looked down ; a fatal thing ; for 
his head, which had until now been so cool and 
steady, began to whirl strangely. He could not re- 
move his eyes from the awful chasm below him. It 
seemed to fascinate him. 

The boys looked at each other in horror. They 
saw the terrible danger which menaced him ; they 
knew it was only a question of moments now before 
he must fall and be dashed to atoms on the pavement 
below. He stood in a kind of stupor, looking down 
into the fascinating gulf, his eyes wild and staring, 
his face white with terror. He, too, knew the awful 
danger in which he stood, but he was powerless to 
help himself. The slightest change of position, even 
the raising of his eyes, and he must fall. The gulf 
seemed drawing him on ; his brain grew more torpid 
with every instant, and his eyes seemed started from 
their sockets. Back of him shuddered his horror- 
stricken comrades, waiting in an agony of sus- 
pense for the fatal end of this terrible drama. Be- 
fore and below him yawned the great chasm, at the 



COUKAGE AND BKAVEKY. 103 

bottom of which the people moving along looked like 
dwarfs. 

Suddenly there was a movement among the boys, 
and Ross Carson, with white face and set teeth, 
climbed quickly and noiselessly out of the steeple on 
to the scaffolding, and with steady step approached 
the boy who stood on the brink of such a fearful 
death. 

^^ If he touches him Tom will fall,^' whispered 
Louis Raymond. 

Low as the whisper was, Ross heard it, and half 
turned his head toward Louis, pausing an instant, as 
if to think. Then he made a quick, firm step for- 
ward, and, throwing both arms around Tom^s waist, 
dragged him backward. 

It was all over in an instant. In the face of a fear- 
ful and imminent danger, Ross saved his enemy, and 
slowly, carefully, for every step was peril, drew him 
back to the steeple, and with the help of the other 
boys got him inside once more, white as a corpse, it 
is true, and utterly unnerved, but safe. 

There was little said by any one. In silence Ross 
helped Tom descend the winding stair, and then 
walked home as quickly as possible. 

" I don't feel well enough to go to school again this 
afternoon,^' he said to his mother, " so Fll weed out 
your flower beds for you." 

" You are pale/' said Mrs. Carson. '^ I'm afraid 
you study too hard. 

Ross did not answer, but threw off his coat and 
began to v/eed the beds, hoping by hard work to 



104 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 

overcome the nervousness which had possessed him 
ever since leaving the new town halL 

He was still weeding a couple of hours later, when 
he heard the tramp of many feet, and, looking up, he 
saw about a dozen of his schoolmates coming in at the 
little wooden gate, Tom Lane first of all. 

'' I've come to ask your pardon, Ross Carson,^' said 
Tom, holding out his hand. ^' You've taught me this 
day what true courage is, and made me see what a 
cowardly sneak IVe been.'' 

Tom's lips quivered as he made this humiliating 
confession, and his eyes were moist with the tears 
which he could restrain with only the greatest effort. 

Ross took the proffered hand in a warm and hearty 
grasp as he said : ^' I'd have done as much for any 
one, Tom. Don't make so much of it. But I'm out 
and out glad to bo friends with you." 

And friends, fast and true, they were from that time 
forth ; and no one ever again even whispered that 
Ross Carson lacked courage. The story of that brave 
deed of his on the scaffolding about the new hall had 
borne testimony to his courage which was sufficiently 
convincing, and the people of Hillsboro were proud 
of their young townsman. In their eyes he was a 
hero. But I think the noblest thing about his brave 
act was that he risked his life to save that of his 
enemy. — Florence B, HaUoweU, in the Illustrated 
Christian Weekly. 



COUKAGE AND BRAVERY. 105 

LINDY, A BRAVE GIRL. 

" O Daddy ! ^^ called a clear, girlish voice. 

^* Yes, Lindy ; what's wanted ? '' 

^^ Ma wants to know how long it'll be 'fore you're 
ready." 

" Oh, tell her I'll be at the door by the time she 
gets her things on. Be sure you have the butter and 
eggs all ready to put into the v/agon. We're makin' 
too late a start to town." 

Butter and eggs, indeed ! As if Lindy needed a 
reminder other than the new dress for which they 
were to be exchanged. 

" Elmer and I can go to town next time, can't we,, 
ma ? " she asked, entering the house. 

" Yes, Lindy, I hope so," was the reply. " But. 
don't bother me now. Your pa is coming already, 
and I haven't my shawl on yet. Yes, Wilbur, I'm 
here. Just put this butter in, Lindy, I'll carry the 
eggs in my lap. Now, Lindy, don't let Elmer play 
with the fire or run away." 

And, in a moment more, the heavy lumber wagon, 
rattled av/ay from the door ; and the children stood 
gazing after it, for awhile, in a half- forlorn manner. 
Then, Lindy went in to do her work, Elmer resumed 
his play, and soon everything was moving along as 
cheerfully as ever. 

After dinner, Elmer went to sleep ; and Lindy,. 
feeling rather lonely again, went out-of-doors for a 
change. It was a warm autumnal day, almost the 
perfect counterpart of a dozen or more which had 



106 COUEAGE AND BRAVERY. 

preceded it. The sun shone brightly, and the hot 
winds that swept through the tall grass made that and 
all else it touched so dry that the prairie seemed like 
a vast tinder-box. Though her parents had but lately 
moved to this place, Liudy was accustomed to the 
prairies. She had been born on them^ and her eyes 
were familiar with nothing else ; yet, as she stood to- 
day with that brown, unbroken expanse rolling away 
before her until it reached the pale bluish-gray of the 
sky, the indescribable feeling of awe and terrible soli- 
tude which such a scene often inspires in one not 
familiar with it stole gradually over her. But Lindy 
was far too practical to remain long under such an 
influence. The chickens v/ere ^' peeping '^ loudly, and 
she remembered that they were still without their 
dinner. 

As she passed around the corner of the house with 
n dish of corn in her hands, the wind almost lifted 
her from the ground. It was certainly blowing with 
greater violence than during the morning. 

Great tumble-weeds went flying by, turning over 
and over with almost lightning rapidity, then, pausing 
for an instant's rest, were caught by another gust and 
carried along, mile after mile, till some fence or other 
obstacle was reached, where they could pile up in 
great drifts, and wait till a brisk wind from an oppo- 
site direction should send them rolling and tumbling 
all the way back. But Lindy did not notice the 
tumble-weeds. The dish of corn had fallen from her 
hands, and she stood looking straight ahead with 
wide-open, terrified eyes. 



COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 107 

What was the sight that so frightened her ? 

Only a line of fire below the horizon. Only a line 
of fire, with forked flames darting high into the air 
and a cloud of smoke drifting away from them. A 
beautiful relief, this bright, changing spectacle, from 
the brown monotony of the prairie. 

But the scene was without beauty for Lindy. Her 
heart had given one great bound v/hen she first saw 
the red line, and then it seemed to cease beating. 
She had seen many prairie fires ; had seen her father 
and other men fight them ; and she knew at once the 
danger her home was in. What could she, a little 
girl, do to save it, and perhaps herself and her little 
brother, from the destroyer which the south w^nd was 
bringing straight toward them ? 

Only for a moment Liudy stood white and motion- 
less. Then, with a bound, she was at the well. Her 
course was decided upon. If only time and strength 
were given her! Drawing two pails of water, she 
laid a large bag in each, and then, getting some 
matches, hurried out beyond the stable. She must 
fight fire with fire. That was her only hope. But a 
strong, experienced man would have shrunk from 
starting a back-fire in such a wind. 

She fully realized the danger, but it was possible 
escape from otherwise inevitable destruction, and she 
hesitated not an instant to attempt it. Cautiously 
starting a blaze, she stood with a wet bag ready to 
smother the first unruly flame. 

The great fire to the southward was rapidly ap- 
proaching. Prairie chickens and other birds, driven 



108 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 

from their nests, were flying over, uttering distressed 
cries. The air was full of smoke and burnt grass, and 
the crackling of the flames could plainly be heard. 
It was a trying moment. The increased roar of the 
advancing fire warned Lindy that she had very little 
time in which to complete the circle around house 
and barn. Still, if she hurried too much she would 
lose control of the fire she had started, and with it all 
hope of safety. 

The heat was intense, the smoke suffocating, the 
rapid swinging of the heavy bag most exhausting ; 
but she was unconscious of these things. The extrem- 
ity of the danger inspired her with wonderful strength 
and endurance. Instead of losing courage, she in- 
creased her almost superhuman exertions ; and, in an- 
other brief interval, the task was completed. None too 
soon, either; for the swiftly advancing column had 
nearly reached the wavering, struggling, slow-moving 
line Lindy had sent out to meet it. 

It was a wild, fascinating, half-terrible, half-beauti- 
ful scene. The tongues of flame, leaping above each 
other with airy, fantastic grace, seemed, cat-like, to 
toy with their victims before devouring them. 

A sudden, violent gust of wind, and then with a 
great crackling roar the two fires met, the flames shoot- 
ing high into the air as they rushed together. 

For one brief, glorious moment they remained there, 
lapping the air with their fierce, hot tongues. Then, 
suddenly dropping, they died quickly out; and where 
an instant before had been a wall of fire, was nothing 
now but a cloud of blue smoke rising from the black- 



COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 109 

ened ground, and here and there a sickly flame finish- 
ing an obstinate tuft of grass. The fire, on each side, 
meeting no obstacle, swept quickly by ; and Lindy 
stood gazing, spell-bound, after it, as it darted and 
flashed in terrible zigzag lines farther and farther 
away. 

" O Lindy ! '^ called a shrill little voice from the 
house. Elmer had just awakened. 

^^ Yes, Fm coming,^' Lindy answered, turning. But 
hoAV very queer she felt! There was a roaring in her 
ears louder than the fire had made. Everything whirled 
before her eyes, and the sun seemed suddenly to have 
ceased shining, all was so dark. Reaching the house 
by a great effort, she sank, faint, dizzy, and trembling 
upon the bed by her brother's side. 

Elmer, frightened, and hardly awake, began to cry ; 
and, as he never did anything in a half-way manner, 
the result was quite wonderful. His frantic shrieks 
and furious cries roused his half- fainting sister as ef- 
fectually as if he had poured a glass of brandy between 
her lips. She soon sat up, and by and by color began 
to return to the white face and strength to the ex- 
hausted body. Her practical nature and strong will 
again asserted themselves; and, instead of yielding to 
a feeling of weakness and prostration, she tied on her 
sun-bonnet firmly, and gave the chickens their long- 
delayed dinner. 

But when, half an hour later, her father found her 
fast asleep, with the glow from the sky reflected on her 
v/eary little face, he looked out of the window for a 
moment, picturing to himself the terrible scenes of 



110 HEROISM. 

the afternoon, and then down at his daughter. '^A 
brave girl ! ^' he murmured, smoothing the yellow hair 
with his hard, brown hand; '^a brave girl ! " — Char- 
lotte A. Butts in St. Nicholas. 



CHAPTER y. 

• HEROISM. 

The true hero is the great wise man of duty — he 
whose soul is armed by truth and supported by the 
smile of God ; he who meets lifers perils with a cau- 
tious but tranquil spirit ; gathers strength by facing its 
storms, and dies, if he is called to die, as a Christian 
victor at the post of duty. And if we must have 
heroes and wars wherein to make them, there is no war 
so brilliant as a war with wrong, and no hero so fit to 
be sung as he who has gained the bloodless victory of 
truth and mercy. H. Bushnell. 

He gave his life " a ransom for many." 
LITTLE JOE. 

BY KATE LAWRENCE. 

Good for nothing was little Joe, 

All the neighbors declared him so. 

His mother was poor as poor could be, 

And a heavy burden, they thought, was he, 

"With his twisted limbs, his crooked back, 

And his face betraying a mental lack ; 

And half in pity, and half in scorn. 

They said, " It were well had he never been born." 



HEROISM. Ill 

" Good for nothing ! " the school-boys cried ; 
"He can not swim, and he can not slide ;" 

And the master echoed, " For naught, indeed , 

He never will learn to write nor read ;^" 

And the parson muttered, " 'Tis very plain 

No thought can enter that darkened brain 

Of grace, or election, or primal fall : 

I will leave him to Him who careth for all." 

"Good for my comfort," his mother said, 

As she tenderly stroked the shiftless head ; 

And smiled, as she would to a babe on her knee, 

Till the little one laughed with a vacant glee. 

And she said, as she gave him a broken toy, 
" I never shall mourn o'er a wayward boy. 

There is love in his heart, and I can guess 

The thoughts he can not in words express." 

" The boy was a hero " the people cried, 
And the news so wondrous spread far and wide. 
The child for this hour was surely kept. 
Did it waken some power that long had slept, — 
That terrible night when the bridge went down. 
And the river came up to flood the town ? 
For poor little Joe, in the wind and rain, 
With his tiny lantern had stopped the train. 

"A ransom for many," so reads the stone, 
That stands by the graveyard gate alone. 
No longer pelted or mocked or jeered. 
By turns tormented and scorned and feared ; 
But blest and honored and mourned he lies 
Who gave his life as a sacrifice. 
And with thrilling heart and a faltering tongue 
The story is told by old and young. 

— Christian Register, 



112 HEROISM. 



OUR HEROES. 

Here's a hand to the boy who has courage 

To do what he knows to be right ; 
When he falls in the way of temptation 

He has a hard battle to fight. 
Who strives against self and his comrades, 

Will find a most powerful foe ; 
All honor to him if he conquers, 

A cheer for the boy who says " No ! " 

There's many a battle fought daily 

The world knows nothing about ; 
There's many a brave little soldier 

Whose strength puts a legion to rout. 
And he who fights sin single-handed 

Is more of a hero, I say, 
Than he who leads soldiers to battle, 

And conquers by arms in the fray. 

Be steadfast, my boy, when you're tempted, 

To do what you know to be right; 
Stand firm by the colors of manhood, 
And you will o'ercome in the fight. 
**The Right," be your battle-cry ever 
In waging the warfare of life; 
And God, who knows who are the heroes, 
Will give you the strength for the strife. 

— Phoebe Cai-y. 



A LEGEND OF BREGENZ. 

One of the loveliest lakes that ever lay encircled 
bv ri^'^frcd mountains is Lake Constance. The skies 
above are reflected in the blue bosom of the lake 
below, and as you watch the white clouds passing 
over it you think it just a piece of heaven on earth. 



HEROISM. 113 

Above the lake has stood for a thousand years or 
more the quaint old Tyrolean city Bregenz ; and it is 
the legend of this city — how the town was saved one 
night three hundred years ago — that I am going to 
tell you. A Tyrol girl left her home and friends to 
go to service in the Swiss valleys. She stayed in 
Switzerland so long that her homesickness was for- 
gotten, the language of her new friends was no longer 
strange, and v/hen she led her cattle out to pasture 
she looked no more on this side and that, wondering 
in which direction lay dear old Bregenz. Still, she 
used to sing to her master's children the old songs of 
her native land ; and at night, when she knelt for her 
simple prayer, it was the words of her childhood 
which came to her. Suddenly arose in the peaceful 
valley strange rumors of war and strife ; the men 
were sterner, there was little talk of spinning or 
working among the women, and even the little chil- 
dren seemed afraid to go out alone to play. One 
night the men and women were assembled, and talked 
over a plan for a secret attack on the stronghold of 
the enemy, Bregenz. Their words were like death to 
the heart of the poor Tyrol maiden ; and as she 
thought of the beauty of her native city, that it was 
her old home, and where her kinsfolk still lived, she 
saw in her new friends only the foes of her country. 
These words sounded in her heart : '^ Go forth, save 
Bregenz, and then, if need be, die." She went with 
trembling haste to the shed, loosened the strong white 
horse that fed daily from her hand, mounted him, and 
turned his head toward Bregenz. Out into the dark- 



114 HEROISM. 

ness they fly — faster, ever faster — in her heart a 
prayer for Bregenz. She hears before her the rushing 
of the Rhine. Her horse draws back in terror, for 
the bank is steep and high. One moment, and in he 
plunges. It is a hard struggle ; she can not see 
through the darkness ; the waters rush above the 
mane of her horse ; but at last it is over, and the 
noble horse bears her up the steep bank on the other 
side. Again they rush onward, and just at midnight 
they reach the city. Bregenz is saved. The battle- 
ments are manned before daylight, and the advancing 
army is met with defiance. Thafwas three hundred 
years ago ; but the old stone gateway which was 
erected on the hill to do her honor stands there still. 
And still at night, as the warder paces to and fro, 
guarding the old gateway and calling each passing 
hour, when midnight comes he calls the maiden's 
name. 



ENGLISH HEROISM. 

One of the most interesting places in the High 
Peak district is a picturesque little village about a 
mile from Stoney Middleton, spelled Eyam, pro- 
nounced Eem. A walk through Middleton dale 
brings us to Eyam dale, a delightful miniature valley 
that leads us to places where memorable scenes w^ere 
enacted, the influence of which remains to-day. At 
Eyam, in the year 1666, the plague raged so fiercely 
that only ninety-one survived out of a population of 
three hundred and fifty. It was said that the plague 



HEROISM. 115 

was brought into the village in some goods sent by a 
tailor from London in the summer of the previous 
year, for a few persons died of it then ; but as soon as 
the hot weather of the next summer came the villagers 
Yv'ere attacked on all hands, and died one after another. 
Then it was seen how much heroism there was in the 
hearts of English people. The rector of the place,. 
Mompesson by name, drew a cordon around the in- 
fected place, and urged his people to remain within it 
rather than by their own want of self-control spread 
the infection to other places. The people obeyed 
their pastor implicitly. No strangers were allowed 
to enter, nor did the inhabitants attempt to leave. 
Every morning food was brought to certain places 
and left there, friends outside, the Duke of Devon- 
shire especially, attending to the supply; and thence 
it was afterward fetched by the villagers. Not only 
food, but medicines were thus provided. The pastor 
and his wife and the previous vicar, Mr. Stanley, de- 
voted themselves to the work of ministering to the 
dying. The church was closed, and the people used 
to assemble in a dell known as The Delf, or Cucklet 
Church; and there, in an archway of a remarkable 
rock, Mr. Mompesson used to read to his flock from 
the Word of Life, lead them in prayer to God, and 
speak words of consolation to them. The pastor's 
wife died in the midst of it, and the man was left 
alone with his work and his grief; but he kept at his 
post until the terrible time was over. The dell in 
which he ministered is exceedingly beautiful, and 
many people visit it. Eyam church has been restored, 



118 HEROISM. 

persons from America, France and all parts of the 
world having sent contributions toward the expense. 
It is a pretty church, and a tablet has been placed in- 
side with the following inscription: 

This memorial aisle was erected by voluntary contributions, 
^obtained in 1866, to commemorate the christian and heroic 
virtues of the Kev. "W. Mompesson (rector), Catherine, his wife, 
and the Eev. W. Stanley, late rector. When this place was vis- 
ited by the plague in 1665-66 they steadfastly continued to succor 
the afflicted and to minister among them the truths and consola- 
tions of the gospel of Jesus Christ. 

— Marianne Farnham, in the Christian World, 



A YOUNG TENANT. 

" Oh, yes, I have all kinds of tenants," said a kind- 
faced old gentleman ; ^' but the one that I like the 
best is a child not more than ten years of age. A 
few years ago, I got a chance to buy a piece of land 
over on the west side, and did so. I noticed that 
there was an old coop of a house on it, but I paid no 
attention to it. After awhile, a man came to me, and 
wanted to know if I would rent it to him. 

" ' What do you want it for ? ^ says I. 

"^To live in/ he replied. 

" ^ Well,' I said, ' you can have it. Pay me what 
you think it is worth to you.' '' 

" The first month he brought two dollars ; and the 
second month, a little boy, who said he was the man's 
son, came with three dollars. After that, I saw the 
man once in awhile; but in the course of time the 
boy paid the rent regularly, sometimes two dollars 



HEROISM. 117 

and sometimes three dollars. One day^ I asked the 
boy what had become of his father. 

" ' He's dead, sir/ was the reply. 

'' ' Is that so ?' said I. ^ How long since ? ' 

'^ ^ Moreen a year/ he answered. 

" I took his money ; but I made up my mind that 
I would go over and investigate, and the next day I 
drove over there. The old shed looked quite decent. 
I knocked at the door, and a little girl let me in, I 
asked for her mother. She said she didn't have 
any. 

^^' Where is she?' said I. 

" ' We don't know, sir. She went away after my 
father died, and we've never seen her since.' 

" Just then, a little girl about three years old came 
in, and I learned that these three had been keeping 
house together for a year and half, the boy supporting 
his two little sisters by blacking boots and selling 
newspapers, and the elder girl managing the house 
and taking care of the baby. Well, I just had my 
daughter call on them, and we keep an eye on them 
ROW. I thought I wouldn't disturb them while they 
were getting along. The next time the boy came 
with the rent, I talked with him a little, and then I 
said : 

" My boy, keep on as you have begun, and you will 
never be sorry. Keep your little sisters together, and 
never leave them. Now look at this.' 

" I showed him a ledger in which I had entered up 
all the money he had paid me for rent, and told him 
it was all his with interest. ^ You keep right on,' says 



118 HEROISM. 

I, 'and 1^11 be your banker; and, when this amounts 
to a little more, I'll see that you get a house some- 
where of your ow^n/ That's the kind of a tenant to 
have.'^ — Chicago Herald. 



HEROES IN EMERGENCIES. 

Another instance comes to me in the story of one 
who only died on April 26th, the day before I write 
these lines. Alice Ayres was a poor girl, in the very 
humble establishment of an oil and color man named 
Henry Chandler, in that part of London which is 
called ^' the Borough." A fire broke out on the 
premises, and catching the inflammable materials 
stored up in the shop, began to burn Avith frightful 
fury and intensity. The only inmates of the little 
house were the owner, his wife, their little boy, three 
little girls of three, four and six years of age, and 
this poor girl, Alice Ayres, who was a sister of Mrs. 
Chandler. Such w^as the sudden power and fury of 
the flames that before any help couJd be given, or any 
firemen arrive, the father and mother and the little 
boy were burned to death. The poor girl, thus ter- 
ribly startled from her sleep, got to a window, three 
stories from the ground, which looked down into the 
street. The crowd shouted to her to jump down, and 
they would catch her, and break her fall. The in- 
trepid girl refused. Rushing back into the flaming 
house, she seized a feather-bed from a bedstead and 
flung it down, calling to the people to hold it out. 

Then she plunged into the suffocating volumes of 



HEEOISM. 119 

smoke, seized the youngest of the three little girls 
and threw her down. Unhappily, the child was in- 
jured by the fall, and shortly after died. But again 
she rushed back to save another little one. 

Again she succeeded. She threw the child down, 
and it was caught, safe and uninjured, on the feather- 
bed. By this time the heat of the room in whicli 
Alice Ayres was standing was intense. The flames 
were bursting out from the windows of the other 
stories, and tongues of fire vvere beginning to flash out 
amid the acrid, stifling smoke. The people shouted 
to the girl to jump for her life. But again she 
plunged back to save a third child, the eldest of them, 
and again she succeeded. No others remained to save. 
They had already perished when the girl jumped 
down herself. But her head was giddy, her eyes 
dimmed, her nerves utterly unstrung. 

She fell short of the feather-bed, upon the pave- 
ment, and dislocated her spine. She was instantly 
carried to Guy's Hospital, and there, after lingering 
for two days, she died— died in physical agony indeed, 
but in great peace of mind, cheered by the thought 
of the little innocent lives she had rescued ; cheered, 
also, during her last moments, by being made aware 
of the hearty sympathy which her brave deed had 
called forth. 

She died early, but she had not lived in vain. 

Her example is one of the thousands of daily proofs 
which present themselves to us in the history of man- 
kind that there is a latent power of heroism in the 
hearts of myriads who live unnoticed and die un- 



120 HEROISM. 

known. There are angels among us in human guise, 
though we never see the waving of their wings. There 
are saints among us, it has been said, though no tablet 
marks the houses in wdiich they have lived, and no 
lamp marks their windows for a shrine of pilgrimage. 
But God knows them, and occasionally — to show us 
how little we need despair of human nature — for one 
day, or one hour, or one moment of that mortal life, 
He makes them known to all the world. 



AN HEROIC OLD WOMAN. 

Her name w^as Louisa Guedan. She was a widow, 
seventy years old, and carried on an artificial leaf fac- 
tory in New York City. 

This fact and the remarkable energy with w^hich she 
managed her business were all that seemed to distin- 
guish her from a score of other old women with whom 
she gossiped. 

But one morning a lot of chemicals exploded on 
the first floor, where Mrs. Guedan was busy. In a 
moment the flames flashed into the one hallway and 
up through the building. Above, on the second floor, 
eight men were at work, unconscious of danger. In 
the top story, a woman lived, with her four children. 
They were out, but the brave old woman did not 
know it. 

Her one thought was to alarm the men and save 
the mother with her children. She rushed up the 
stairs, banged at the door of the workmen's room. 



HEROISM. 121. 

shouted, " Fire ! ^^ and then sprang up the second 
stairway. 

A workman opened his door, caught a glimpse of 
the '' old woman '' rushing upward to save the tenants 
above, and then a black cloud of smoke shut her out 
from his view. 

He jumped forward to pull her back, but the flames 
darted between them. With great difficulty, he and 
his fellow-workmen escaped to an adjoining building. 

The firemen fought their way up inch by inch,, 
quenching the flames as they went. When they 
reached the upper landing, they found the heroic old 
woman lying dead at the door of the mother's room. 

— Youth's Companion. 



'a WILL STAY." 

In a Memphis graveyard is buried a young hero.- 
He was a pilot on board a White River steamboat. 
The boat caught fire while he was at the v/heel. See- 
ing that to land against the bluff bank opposite to 
the boat would cause the loss of many lives, he headed 
the steamer for a sand-bar, some distance away, where 
all could be saved. 

The flames came nearer and nearer the pilot-house. 
He was urged to fly, but answered, his hands grasping 
tighter the spokes of the wheel : 

^'' I will not go. If I go, nobody will be saved ; if 
I stay, no one v/ill be lost but me. I \y\\\ stay." 

And he stood by the wheel till the boat ground in 



122 HEEOISM. 

the shallow water on the bar. The flames had closed 
round the pilot-house, and in escaping through them 
he was fatally burned. Of the two hundred persons 
on board, his was the only life lost. 

'^ The history of Mississippi piloting," says Mark 
Twain, in his " Life on the Mississippi," where we 
found this anecdote, ^' affords six or seven instances 
of this sort of martyrdom. 

*^ But," he continues, and the noble fact is worthy 
of the italics in which he puts it, ^'' there is no instance 
of a pilot deserting his post to save his life, while by 
remaining and sacrificing it he might secure other 
lives from destruction." — Youth^s Companion. 



A CHILD HERO. 

Of the child heroes of to-day, little Nellie Barry 
stands among the first. Motherless and with a father 
unfitted by alcohol to be the protector of his family, 
this ten-years-old Cambridge girl proved herself brave 
and true at the time of need. The house and stable 
belonging to her father were consumed one night. 
When the work of destruction was far advanced, 
Nellie was awakened by a falling timber. Without 
waiting to dress, she seized her two-years-old brother, 
and bore him safely out. She then hurried back to 
rescue another brother, and succeeded in saving the 
lives of the four little ones under her care. As none 
of her relatives are able to support her, Nellie Barry 
finds a home in the city almshouse. — Christian Reg- 
ister. 



HEKOISM. 123 



A BOY HERO. 



He was only six years old, little Tommy Brown. 
His father was a pioneer out in Oregon. (Look on 
the map, as always, and find Oregon, if you don^t 
know where it is.) Pioneers have discomforts and 
privations that the people in older settlements do not 
dream of. They are often twenty miles away from 
any store. If anything has happened that they have 
not laid in a supply of meat, flour, and meal, and 
these things give out at home, it becomes a very seri- 
ous business. If the roads are snowed up, or if the 
mud is so deep as to make them impassable, there is 
a chance that the pioneer's family may go hungry, 
they may even starve. 

Provisions had given out in the family of Mr. 
Brown. There had been a deep, soft snow, so the 
roads were very bad indeed. But food must be had, 
or his babies would have nothing to eat. So the 
father started with his wagon to the store, twenty 
miles away. He was a long time getting there, for 
the road was so heavy. 

Mr. Brown loaded his wagon and started back. 
But a tremendous fall of snow came, and blinded him 
and blocked his way. The storm continued several 
days. The forlorn man staggered on as best he could ; 
but it grew colder and colder. He began to be chilled 
through. Nobody knew what finally happened to him 
in those awful hours, or what he thought about. 

For he never came home. When the storm cleared 
away, and the people Vv^ent to look for him, they found 



124 HEROISM. 

him frozen stiff and dead in the road. His wife was 
dead ; and his children had been left at home alone, 
to wait till he came back with the provisions. What 
had become of them, poor babies ? 

It had not been so very cold when he left home, 
and nobody thought anything would happen. There 
were two children — Tommy and a younger brother, 
only four years old. The father would have hardly 
dared to leave them, except that he had a beautiful 
and faithful shepherd dog. This noble animal was 
used to taking care of the children just as if they had 
been two lambs. His name was " Shep.^^ He watched 
and guarded them at play during the hours when their 
papa was obliged to leave them alone. 

The little creatures and the faithful dog waited all 
day for Mr. Brown to come back. They went to bed, 
and to sleep ; and still tlie father was not there next 
morning. They began to get hungry as the day wore 
on. But another night passed, and the next morning 
they were very liungry indeed. They thought they 
would go out and try to find papa. They were not very 
warmly dressed, but out they v/ent. They wandered 
into the woods, Shep after them. It was Sunday 
morning when thej left their cabin. They walked 
and walked, and cried bitterly ; but no papa came. 
Shep hugged as close to them as he could. There 
were wild animals in the woods that would have at- 
tacked and devoured the helpless babies, only for 
Shep. He was as brave as a lion and faithful as a 
father. Worn out at last when darkness came, they 
huddled down against Shep's warm coat and lay there. 



HEKOISM. 125 

It is the greatest wonder they did not die with the 
coldo But they did not. Toward morning, it be- 
came warmer and began to rain. How the poor things 
suffered when morning came ! They had no hope and 
no refuge but Shep. They hugged him, and cried 
together. They called till they could shout no longer, 
but nobody came. At last the younger brother 
said : 

" Tommy, O Tommy, Pm freezing to death ! '' 
Then what do you think this brave, tender, big 
brother did ? — big brother, though he was only six 
years old. He took his own coat off, all the warm 
garment he had, and wrapped it round the younger 
child. The rain poured in torrents, and Tommy had 
nothing upon his shoulders but a cotton shirt ; but he 
bore it all, and pulled the coat close about his baby 
brother. There is not the least doubt the little fellow 
would have frozen to death but for this. 

So, at last, the neighbors found them at noon Mon- 
day, cuddled down all close together — Tommy, the 
small brother and Shep. A few hours more, and both 
the children would have been dead. But how much 
the kind-hearted people made over them, when they 
did discover them ! There was hardly anything good 
enough for those two whom the storm had left father- 
less. They will find plenty of friends now. But 
Tommy Brown is the bravest, noblest little lad I 
have ever heard of in many a day. He is one of the 
heroes of the world. — Christian Register, 



126 HEKOISM. 



ONE LITTLE GIRL. 

She Avas a little girl, not more than ten years old. A 
faded calico dress, not over clean, a pair of shoes with 
more buttons missing than were present, made up a 
by no means fashionable toilet. Her eyes were not 
" large and dark ;'^ in fact, she was a very common- 
place-looking little girl. If you met her on the 
street, it is quite certain you would not look at her 
twice ; for in New York there are many little girls 
not so clean and w^ith clothes more ragged than Rosens. 

She came into a court-room in New York, one day, 
two or three weeks since, leading by the hand a little 
boy with bare feet, ragged clothes, and a hat with a 
torn crown. He was crying very hard, and once in 
awhile would say, between his sobs, ^' I won't do it 
again, Rosie — I won't do it again. '^ But Rosie shut 
her lips tight, and walked through the little iron gate, 
and stood on the platform before the judge. She was 
not afraid of the good-natured-looking man who was 
the judge that morning. 

'' Please, sir, will you please take care of Johnny ? 
He is too much for me. I can mind the baby all 
right, but Johnny runs away.'' 

^^ I won't do it again," wailed Johnny. 

'^ Where is your mother?" said the judge. 

A crimson wave flashed over the face of the little 
woman, and, with eyes looking on the ground, she said : 
, '' On the island." 

" Why ? " 

" She got drunk." 



HEROISM. 127 

^' Where is your father ? " 

'^ I don^t know ; and, please, will you take care of 
Johnny?" 

After much questioning, the story was told. 

Little Rosie for eight weeks had been taking care 
of a baby sister eight months old, and Johnny. 

]^bw, Johnny would not stay at home ; and Rose 
had heard that there was a big house up-town where 
he could not run away, and she came to the judge to 
have him sent to that place. 

Rose really took care of Johnny and the baby. 
She earned money by selling papers and ^^ minding '^ 
the babies of two or three mothers who lived in the 
big tenement house in which she lived, who had to go 
away from home to earn money. She paid the rent 
of the one room she called home, and was father and 
mother to her brother and sister. 

The judge did send Johnny to the place up-town 
Avhere Rose wanted him sent. How he cried when 
the big policeman took him away from Rose ! And 
Rose cried. The great tears rolled down her cheeks 
as she went out on the street ; and she waited around 
the door, with the baby in her arms, till it was almost 
dark, to see Johnny go away. Perhaps it was best 
that Johnny went out by another door while she was 
waiting. 

Now, Johnny plays on a big lawn with a lot of 
other little boys. His face and clothes are clean ; and, 
when Rose goes up to see him, she will be surprised 
to see how fat and happy he is. 

Some people went down to see Rose, and tried to 



128 HEROISM. 

persuade her to put the baby in a home and go to 
another home herself. But Rose said " no ; '^ she 
must keep the house and the baby until her mother 
got back, and she could not be separated from the 
baby. She was so womanly, so motherly, in her 
determination, she was permitted to do as she wished. 
To-day, if you should go into one of the tenement 
houses near that gloomy building called the Tombs, 
you would find Rose living with the baby; and, if it 
was the afternoon, you would find three other babies 
with her, to whom she proves a good nurse. — Chris- 
tian Union. 

ONE WAY TO BE BRAVE. 

"Papa," exclaimed six-year-old Marland, leaning 
against his father's knee after listening to a true story, 
*^ I wish I could be as brave as that ! " 

" Perhaps you will be, when you grow up.'' 

"But maybe I shan't ever be on a railroad train 
when there is going to be an accident ! " 

"Ah ! but there are sure to be plenty of other ways 
for a brave man to show himself." 

Several days after this, when Marland had quite 
forgotten about trying to be brave, thinking, indeed, 
that he would have to wait anyway until he was a 
man, he and his little playmate, Ada, a year younger, 
were playing in the dog-kenneL It was a very large 
kennel, so that the two children often crept into it to 
^^ play house." After awhile Marland, v/ho, of course, 
was playing the papa of the house, was to go " down 
town " to his business. He put his little head out of 



HEROISM. 129 

the door of tlie kennel, and was just about to creep 
out, ¥/hen, right in front of him in the path, he saw 
a snake. He knew in a moment just what sort of a 
snake it was, and how dangerous it was. He knew 
it was a rattlesnake, and that if it bit Ada or him, 
they would probably die. For Marland had spent 
two summers on his papa's big ranch in Kansas, and 
he had been told over and over again, if he ever saw 
a snake, to run from it as fast as he could ; and this 
snake, just in front of him, was making the queer 
little noise with the rattles at the end of his tail, which 
Marland had heard enough about to be able to rec- 
ognize. 

ISTow, you must know that a rattlesnake is not at 
all like a lion or a bear, although just as dangerous in 
its own way. It will not chase you. It can only 
spring a distance equal to its own length ; and it has 
to wait and coil itself up in a ring, sounding its warn- 
ing all the time, before it can strike at all. So, if you 
are ever so little distance from it when you see it first, 
you can easily escape from it. The only danger is 
from stepping on it without seeing it. But Marland's 
snake was already coiled, and it was hardly more than 
a foot from the entrance to the kennel. You must 
know that the kennel was not out in an open field, 
either, but under a piazza ; and a lattice work very 
near it left a very narrow passage for the children, 
even when there wasn't any snake. If they had been 
standing upright, they could have run, narrow as the 
way was. But they v/ould have to crawl out of the 
kennel and find room for their entire little bodies on 
9 



130 HEROISM. 

the ground before they could straighten themselves up 
and run. Fortunately, the snake's head was turned 
the other way, 

"Ada/' said Marland, very quietly, — so quietly that 
his grandpapa, raking the gravel on the walk near by, 
did not hear him, — " there's a snake out here, and it 
is a rattlesnake. Keep very still, and crawl right 
after me." 

"Yes, Ada," he whispered, as he succeeded in 
squirming himself out and wriggling past the snake 
till he could stand upright, "there's room, but you 
mustn't make any noise ! " 

Five minutes later the two children sauntered slowly 
down the avenue, hand in hand. 

" Grandpapa," said Marland, " there's a rattlesnake 
in there where Ada and I were. Perhaps you'd better 
kill him ! " 

And when the snake had been killed, and papa for 
the hundredth time had folded his little boy in his 
arms and murmured, " My brave boy ! my dear, brave 
little boy ! " Marland looked up in surprise. 

" Why, it wasn't I that killed the snake, papa ! it 
was grandpapa ! I didn't do anything. I only kept 
very still and ran away ! " 

But you see, in that case, keeping very still and 
running away was just the bravest thing the little 
fellow could have done. And I think his mamma — 
for I am his mamma, so I know just how she did 
feel — felt when she took him in her arms that night 
that in her little boy's soul there was something of 
the stuff of which heroes are made. — Mrs. Alice Well- 
ington Rollins, in V/ide Awake. 



POLITENESS. 131 

CHAPTEE YI. 

POLITENESS. 

Politeness has been defined as " benevolence in 
small things/^ There are many who can remember to 
be polite in great things, and in the presence of great 
people. The truly polite are polite to all classes of 
people at all times ; to home-folks as well as to stran- 
gers. They never forget a " thank you '' for even the 
smallest favor. They not only say polite things, but 
they aet politely. ^^Actions speak louder than words.^^ 



TRUE POLITENESS. 

A kind heart is the first essential of true politeness. 
The other day we saw a poor woman, her arms laden 
with bundles, trying to open the lid of a street letter- 
box. Dozens of people jostled hj her without offer- 
ing to help, but presently a finely-dressed young lady 
came along, who, with her daintily-gloved hand lifted 
the lid, then smiled and passed on, as if she were in 
the habit of being thoughtful for others. The same 
spirit characterized the following act, told in the 
Christian Advocate : 

An aged truckman bent under the weight of a big 
roll of carpet. The bale-hook fell from his hand and 
bounded into the gutter out of reach. Twenty idle 
clerks and salesmen saw the old man's predicament, 



132 POLITENESS. 

and smiled at his look of bewilderment. No one ven- 
tured to help him. 

A fashionably-dressed young woman came along, 
took in the situation at a glance, and, without looking 
to the right or left, stepped into the gutter, picked up 
the hook in her dainty, gloved fingers, and handed it 
to the man with a pleasant smile. 

The idlers looked at each other, and at the fair 
young woman. The old truckman, in a violent effort 
to express his thanks politely, lost his hat. It rolled 
into the gutter where the hook had been. 

This was almost too much for any woman, young 
or past young, but this New York girl was equal to 
the occasion. 

Into the gutter she tripped again and got the soiled 
hat. When she handed it to the truckman, a happy 
smile was seen to play about her lips. " God bless 
ye, miss," the old man said, as the fair maiden turned 
her back on the idlers, and went on her way. 

— Christian Standa^^d. 



THE POLITEST OF CLERKS. 

" When Grant was in Chicago, three or four years 
ago," said an army official, " he lounged about Sheri- 
dan's head-quarters a good deal. His son Fred was, 
at that time, on Sheridan's staff, but was absent one 
day ; and Grant took his place at Fred's desk, to look 
after the business. A nervous, fidgety, irritable old 
fellow came in to inquire for some paper that he had 
left with Fred. When he stated his case. Grant took 



POLITENESS. 133 

up the matter in a sympathetic way^ and proceeded, 
after the manner of an over-anxious clerk^ to look 
the paper up. The document could not be found; 
and Grant, apologizing, walked with the old gentle- 
man to the door. As I walked down the stairs with 
the mollified visitor, he turned and asked : ^ Who is 
that old codger? He is the politest clerk I ever saw 
at military head-quarters. I hope that Sheridan will 
keep him.' I answered quietly, ^ That is General 
Grant.' The fidgety old gentleman, after staring at 
me for a full minute, said, with considerable fervor, 
^ I will give you fifty cents, if you will kick me down- 
stairs.' " — Chicago Tribune. 



"^ little wrong done to another is a great wrong done to ourselves." 
NOT ''SMART." 

Of all forms of bad breeding, the pert, smart man- 
ner affected by boys and girls of a certain age is the 
most offensive and impertinent. One of these so- 
called smart boys was once employed in the office of 
the treasurer of a western railroad. He was usually 
left alone in the office between the hours of eight and 
nine in the morning, and it was his duty to answer 
the questions of all callers as clearly and politely as 
possible. 

One morning a plainly -dressed old gentleman 
walked quietly in, and asked for the cashier. 

" He's out," said the boy, without looking up from 
the paper he v/as reading. 



134 POLITEXESS. 

^' Do you know where he is ? " 

^^When willhebein?^^ 

'^ 'Bout nine o'clock/' 

" It's nearly that now, isn't it ? I haven't western 
time." 

" There's the clock," said the boy smartly, pointing 
to a clock on the wall. 

*^ Oh, yes ; thank you," said the gentleman. ^^ Ten 
minutes until nine. Can I wait here for him?" 

" I s'pose so, though this isn't a public hotel." 

The boy thought this was smart, and he chuckled 
aloud over it. He did not offer the gentleman a chair, 
or lay down the paper he held. 

" I would like to write a note while I wait," said 
the caller; "will you please get me a piece of paper 
and an envelope ? " 

The boy did so, and as he handed them to the old 
gentleman, he coolly said : 

'^ Anything else?" 

" Yes," was the reply. " I would like to know the 
name of such a smart boy as you are." 

The boy felt flattered by the word " smart," and 
wishing to show the full extent of his smartness, replied : 

"I'm one of John Thompson's kids, William by 
name, and I answer to the call of ^ Billy.' But here 
comes the boss!" 

The " boss " came in, and, seeing the stranger, cried 
out : 

" Why, Mr. Smith, how do you do ? I'm delighted 
to see you. We" — 



POLITENESS, 135 

But John Thompson's " kid '^ heard no more. He 
was looking around for his hat. Mr. Smith was pres- 
ident of the road, and Billy heard from him later, to 
his sorrow. Any one needing a boy of Master Billy's 
peculiar " smartness '' might secure him, as he is still 
out of employment. 



"A good word is as soon said as an ill one" 

TWO SCENES IN A HORSE-CAR. 

There is an old Spanish proverb which says, " Make two friends 
for every enemy you make. Then what is stolen from you in 
hate, will be made good to you in affection." Another saying, 
common to every nation, is, "He who always demands his exact 
rights on every occasion, will never get anything more." Kiding 
in a horse-car lately, the writer saw an impressive application of 
these sayings. 

The car was crowded, and several persons were 
standing up. As the car rounded a curve, one man 
lurched over to one side, and knocked his neighbor's 
hat over his eyes. The man thus accidentally struck, 
turned around angrily and asked who hit him. 

" I did. What 're you going to do about it?" an- 
swered the other. 

" I 'd show you v/hat I 'd do about it, if I had you 
out of this car ! " 

" You would, eh ? " 

'' Yes, I would ! " 

"Why don't you do it here?" 

" I will, if you doa't shut up." 

"You will?" 

"Yes." 



136 POLITENESS. 

^'Perhaps you own this car?^' 

"Perhaps I do. I don't take up more than my 
share of it^ though. '' 

" Well, I intend to have all the room I need. I 
don't mean to give up my personal rights to any man.'' 

" Nobody asked you to. But you needn't push me 
out of my place." 

'' Who's pushing you out of your place ? " 

" You are." 

"You lie!" 

At this point the conductor interfered, and threat- 
ened to put the disputants oif the car. After a few 
more hard words, the man who had been the occasion 
of the dispute got out. 

" Each man has made his enemy," thought more 
than one person in the car. 

In a few minutes another passenger came in, and as 
it was cold near the door, he wedged his way slowly 
up to the front. In doing so, he stepped on the foot 
of the man who had already had his hat jammed over 
his face. 

" Look out ! What are you doing there ? Can't 
you step somewhere else?" 

" I beg your pardon ! Very awkward of me, I'm 
sure. Hope it didn't hurt you much." 

"Well — no — not very much." 

" They don't make these cars big enough for men 
with big feet like mine and yours, eh ? " 

" That's so. Ought to put on platform-cars for us." 

"Ha! ha! ha! Good! Glad you take it so good- 
naturedly. Fine frosty evening, isn't it ?" 



POLITENESS. ' 137 

" You 're right. Good Christmas weather." 

" That's so. Do you celebrate ? '' 

" Why^ of course ! Do you take me for a pagan? '' 

^^ You don't look like one, that 's a fact. What 's 
that in your overcoat pocket? A sled?" 

" Not quite. A Noah's ark." 

" Ah ! That flood was a good thing for Noah's de- 
scendants, wasn't it ? " 

" First-rate. But I must get out here. Wish yoa 
a Merry Christmas, sir ! " 

^[ Same to you, and many of 'em ! ' 

The second man got out two blocks further on, but 
to us who remained, it seemed as though he had 
breathed into the chilly air his own warm, hearty 
spirit. That man made more than one person happier 
that night. — Youths^ Companion, 



RECOGNITION OF FAVORS. 

Gratitude is a grace by far too rarely found. The 
story of the lepers in a book which reveals not only 
more of the Divine nature, but more of human nature^, 
than any other, represents the usual sad disproportion 
of gratitude in the world. The lepers were peculiar 
in the misfortune of leprosy, but not peculiar in the 
other misfortune of ingratitude. Every feeling grows 
by expression ; hence, we should strive to increase 
our appreciation of favors by every possible acknowi- 
edgment of them. Yet a great many favors are ha- 
bitually accepted by us as a matter of course, and, if 



138 POLITENESS. 

not entirely unacknowledged, are very carelessly and 
indifferently received. 

A domestic said once, in speaking of a deceased 

mistress with respect and affection, ^^ It was a pleasure 

to do anything for her, for whatever it was, great or 

^small, she always had a bright smile and a hearty 

^' Thank you.' '' 

'' Why do you suppose Madam B has so many 

friends ?'' asked a young girl about an aged lady who 
received a great many visits and tokens of remem- 
brance. " Everybody seems to like her.'' 

" I can give you one reason," answered her aunt ; 
"she is always grateful for every kindness, and shows 
that she appreciates even the slightest favor — a flower, 
the loan of a book, whatever it may be — by a prompt 
and heartfelt recognition of any attention, any per- 
sonal thoughtfulness, on the part of others." 



SHOWING POLITENESS TO THE AGED. 

It happened at Athens, during the public repre- 
sentation of some play exhibited in honor of the com- 
monwealth, that an old gentleman came too late for a 
place suitable to his age and quality. Many of the 
young men who observed the difficulty and confusion 
he was in made sign to him that they would accom- 
modate him if he came where they sat. The good 
man bustled through the crowd accordingly ; but 
when he came to the scats to which he was invited 
the jest was to sit close and expose him, as he stood 
out of countenance, to the whole audience. 



POLITENESS. 139 

The frolic went round the Athenian benches. But 
on those occasions there were also particular places 
assigned for foreigners. When the good man sulked 
toward the boxes appointed for the Lacedsemonians 
that honest people, more virtuous than polite, rose up 
all to a man, and with the greatest respect received 
him among them. The Athenians, being suddenly 
touched with a sense of the Spartan virtue and their 
own degeneracy, gave a thunder of applause; and the 
old man cried out : ^* The Athenians understand what 
is good, but the Lacedaemonians practice it." — Addi- 
son. 

SURLY AND SWEET. 

Johnny and Jimmy were twins, and looked " as 
near alike as two peas," everybody said. 

*^ Shure," said Bridget, the kitchen girl, " the looks 
of thim is as near alike as two pays ; but the actin^ of 
thim is no more alike than pays and punkins! Jimmy 
is that plisant ye can^t help lovin' him ; but Johnny — 
och ! he ^s the sour cratur ! " 

^^Come here, boys, and let me see if I can tell you 
apart." Johnny declared that was what everybody 
said who came into the house to stay five minutes. 
He often slipped out into the woodshed or stole softly 
up in the garret to get out of sight. Jimmy was al- 
ways ready to walk up cheerfully when asked, like the 
pleasant little gentleman he was. 

" I wish I didn^t look like anybody ! " Johnny 
would often snarl out. '^ I ^m so sick of always being 
looked at ! " 



140 POLITENESS. 

Jimmy never made any such complaint, though he 
m-ight with some reason ; for the teacher kept him by 
mistake one night after school to learn his spelling les- 
son, when Johnny was the one who had missed, after all. 

^^ Why, see ! There ^s Mrs. Hall in her door ! " said 
Jimmy to Johnny one night, as they were going home 
from school. " I didn^t know she had got home.^' 

"Nor I,^' said Johnny. 

" Come in a moment, boys,^^ called the lady to them. 
'^ I want to look at you." 

" I shan't go a step ! " muttered Johnny. 

^' Yes, let 's go in,'' pleaded Jimmy. " Mrs. Hall 
has been gone a whole year ; and, of course, she wants 
to see us." 

" I don't care if she does ! " snapped Johnny, start- 
ing off on the run. But Jimmy went in. 

" When did you get liome, Mrs. Hall ? " he asked 
politely, as she shook hands with him. 

" I only came this afternoon," she said. " Now^ 
which are you, Jimmy or Johnny? " 

" Jimmy." 

"Why didn't Johnny come in? I wanted to see 
if you looked as much alike as you used to." 

" He thought he must go home," said Jimmy, try- 
ing to excuse his brother, as he had to do very often. 

" Come into the parlor," said Mrs. Hall. " I want 
to show you a new playmate. Here is my nephew 
Ilobbie, come to stay with me a long time ; and I 
hope you will be good friends. Let us have some 
nuts and apples to eat while we talk. I want to ask 
so many questions about your mother." 



POLITENESS. 141 

They had a very pleasant chat over the apples and 
nuts, and Robbie and Jimmy felt quite like old 
friends. Then Jimmy rose to go, 

^* Wait a minute more/^ said .Mrs. Hall, taking a 
covered basket from the cupboard. " Here are some 
presents for you boys ; but I think Johnny doesn't 
care for any, as he would not come in.'' She took 
out two beautiful books, two nice balls and two pearl- 
handled knives, and gave one of each to Jimmy, who 
thanked her again and again. 

" And now," she said, ^^ please tell your mother I 
want both you boys to come and spend next Saturday 
with Kobbie." 

^^Oh! thank you," replied Jimmy. " We shall be 
very glad^to come." 

Johnny's eyes opened wide when he saw Jimmy's 
presents. ^' I'd have gone in," he said, " if I'd known 
she was going to give lis anything." 

^^ Jimmy didn't knov/ it, but he v/ent in," said their 
mother. '' Surly, selfish people often punish them- 
selves." 

They went to see Robbie the next Saturday, and 
Johnny hoped he should have some presents ; but he 
found afterward that Mrs. Hall had given them to 
Robbie. — Companion. 



In all the affairs of human life, social as well as 
political, I have remarked that courtesies of a small 
and trivial character are the ones that strike deepest 
to the grateful and appreciating heart, — Henry Clay, 



142 POLITENESS. 



"BRIGGS DID DO IT." 



Lord Maeaulay's definition of politeness, " Benev- 
olence in trifles/' was once impressively illustrated by 
that good governor and excellent Christian gentleman, 
George N. Briggs, of Massachusetts. 

One day, while walking on the naain street of Pitts- 
field, he was overtaken by a shower. Stepping into 
a store, he stood in the doorway, umbrella in hand, 
waiting for the showier to pass away. 

Just then, a young colored woman came along. 
She was well dressed, but, apparently, was too timid 
to seek the shelter offered by the open stores. As she 
stood, irresolute, Governor Briggs noticed her distress, 
and, stepping forv/ard, spread his umbrella over her, 
and insisted upon her taking it. 

A few days after the governor's death, this incident 
was mentioned at a social gathering by a gentleman 
who had witnessed it. One of the company — a young 
man, who did not sympathize with the general admi- 
ration which the anecdote excited — exclaimed petu- 
lantly : 

'^ Why, anybody could have done that ! '' 

" Yes,'' rejoined the witty Dr. John Todd, '^ but 
Governor Briggs did do it ! " 

The silence of the youth showed that he appre- 
hended the force of Dr. Todd's emphasis on the 
"did." — Central Christian Advocate. 



" Politeness is to do and to say 
The kindest things in the kindest way." 



POLITENESS. 14S 



" To he polite is to be kind." 
BE POLITE. 

Hearts, like doors, will ope with ease 

To two veiy little keys ; 
But don't forget the two are these : 
" I thank you, sir," and " If you please." 
Be polite, boys ; don't forget it 

In your wandering day by day. 
When you work and when you study, 

In your home and at your play. 

Be polite, boys, to each other ; 

Do not quickly take offense ; 
Curb your temper ; you'll be thankful 

For this habit seasons hence. 
Be respectful to the aged, 

And this one thing bear in mind : 
Never taunt the wretched outcast, 

Be he helpless, lame or blind. 

Be polite, boys, to your parents ; 

Never let them fail to hear 
From their sons the best of language 

In the home you should love dear. 
To your brothers and your sisters 

Speak in accents kind and true. 
Be polite ; 'twill serve you better 

Than a princely gift can do. 

— New York Ledger. 



TWO GENTLEMEN. 

I saw two gentlemen on a street car lately. One 
of them was grown up. He was handsomely dressed 
in a gray business suit, and had very neat kid gloves 
and fine boots. The other was about twelve years 
old. His jacket had several patches, and needed 



144 REGARD FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 

more; and his shirt was of brown cotton, and not 
very clean. Do you wonder how I knew he was a 
gentleman ? I will tell you. 

The bay went through the car to give some message 
to the driver. As he returned he gave a little jump 
through the door, and as he did so his bare foot 
touched the grown gentleman's knee and left a little 
mud on it. Turning around on the platform, he 
raised his straw hat, and said, very politely, in a clear 
tone, '^ Please excuse me.'' Then the other gentle- 
man bowed in his turn, just as he would have done to 
one of his own age, and said, with a pleasant smile, 
"Certainly."— Fowj^A's World, 



CHAPTER Y II. 

REGARD FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 

" Honor thy father and mother J^ 

A MOTHER'S INFLUENCE. 

In a railway-car a man about sixty years old came 
to sit beside me. He had heard me lecture the even- 
ing before on temperance. " I am master of a ship," 
said he, "sailing out of New York, and have just 
made my fifteenth voyage across the Atlantic. About 
thirty years ago I was a sot, shipped while dead- 
drunk, and was carried on board like a log. When I 
came to, the captain asked me, ^ Do you remember 
your mother?' I told him she died before I could 



EEGAED FOR PAEEXTS AXD THE AGED. 145 

remember. ^ ^Yell/ said he, ^ I am a Vermont man. 
When I was young, I was crazy to go to sea. At last 
my mother consented I should seek my fortune. " My 
boy/^ she said, ^^ I don^t know anything about towns, 
and I never saw the sea, but they tell me they make 
thousands of drunkards. Xow promise me you'll 
never drink a drop of liquor." He said, ^ I laid my 
hands in hers and promised, as I looked into her eyes 
for the last time. She died soon after. I^^e been on 
every sea, seen the worst kind of life and men — they 
laughed at me as a milksop, and wanted to know if I 
was a coward. But when they offered me liquor I 
saw my mother^s pleading face, and I never drank a. 
drop. It has been my sheet-anchor ; I owe it all to 
that. Would you like to take that pledge ? ' said he." 
My companion took it, and he added : ^- It has saved 
me. I have a fine ship, wife and children at home, 
and I have helped others." 

That earnest mother saved two men to virtue and 
usefulness ; how many more. He who sees all can alone 
teW.^ Wendell Phillips. 



TO SAVE HIS MOTHER. 

We have had a German baron among us — Baron 
von Karlstine — who has written a book about ]N'ew 
York and its inhabitants. One of his anecdotes is 
very good and interesting. 

On Washington's birthday he was standing in a 
crowd on the corner of Fifth avenue and Fourteenth 
street, waiting for the grand procession to arrive. 
10 



146 REGARD FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 

The first drums were heard in the distance, when a 
young man, in his shirt sleeves and hatless, passed 
through the multitude and addressed the policeman 
who kept the people back. 

" Officer," he exclaimed, " my mother is sick in a 
house near Sixth avenue ; she has suddenly been 
taken much worse, and the doctor says that if the 
procession passes our house the noise will kill her." 

" O K, young fellow," said the policeman, and left 
him to run up the avenue, w^here he stood some twenty 
feet before the procession and screamed, " Halt !" 
holding up a light rattan cane with both hands. 

The w^ord was passed along the line, an adjutant 
galloped forward, bent over his horse's neck, and ex- 
changed a few w^ords with the policeman. 

Suddenly the command, '^ Forward march !" was 
heard, and the immense body of men proceeded to the 
corner of Fourteenth street without any music except 
the lightest possible tapping of drums. Then came 
" Right wheel !'' and nearly fifty thousand men, whom 
immense crowds were waiting to see and cheer, 
wheeled up Fourteenth street to Broadv/ay, and down 
Broadway they marched without music until they 
w^ere beyond the distance at which they might disturb 
the sick woman. 

No one asked Avhy an army of well drilled, admiia- 
bly equipped men, many of them battle-scarred vet- 
erans, turned out of their path at the simple request 
of a single policeman armed with but a little rattan 
cane. It would have been but a trifling matter for 
them to take Gotham. But no. The general in 



REGARD FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 147 

command, when he received the young man's thanks 
reminded him that his very natural request was ad- 
dressed to gentlemen and soldiers ; and a gentleman, 
be he a soldier or not, reveres the sacred name of 
mother. — -YoutNs Companion. 



DO MORE FOR MOTHER. 

" Is there a vacant place in this bank which I could 
fill? '^ was the inquiry of a boy, as, with glowing cheek, 
he stood before the manager. 

^' There is none," was the reply. " Were you told 
that you might obtain a situation? Who recom- 
mended you?" 

^^ No one recommended me, sir," calmly answered 
the boy. " I only thought I would see." 

There was a straightforwardness in the manner, an 
honest determination in the countenance of the lad, 
which pleased the man of business, and induced him 
to continue the conversation. He said : 

^^ You must have friends who could aid you in ob- 
taining a situation ; have you told them?" 

The quick flash of the deep blue eyes was quenched 
in the overtaking wave of sadness, as he said, though 
half musingly : 

" My mother said it would be useless to try with- 
out friends ; " then, recollecting himself, he apologized 
for the interruption, and was about to v/ithdraw, when 
the gentleman detained him by asking him why he 
did not remain at school for a year or two, and then 
enter the business world. 



148 REGARD FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 

'^ I have no time/^ was the reply. " I study at 
home, and keep up with the other boys.'' 

" Then you have a place already V^ said the inter- 
rogator. " Why do you leave it ? '' 

*^ I have not left it/' answered the boy, quietly. 
^ '^ But you wish to leave it ; what is the matter ? '' 

For an instant the child hesitated; then he replied 
with half reluctant frankness : " I must do more for 
my mother ! " 

Brave words ! Talisman of success anywhere, every- 
where. They sank into the heart of the listener, re- 
calling the radiant past. Grasping the hand of the 
astonished child, he said, with a quivering voice ; 

'^ My good boy, what is your name ? You shall 
fill the first vacancy for an apprentice that occurs in 
the bank. If, meantime, you need a friend, come to 
me. But now give me your confidence. Why do 
you wish to do more for your mother ? Have you 
no father ? " 

Tears filled the boy's eyes as he replied : 

"My father is dead, my brothers and sisters are 
dead, and my mother and I are left alone to help each 
other. But she is not strong ; and I wish to take 
care of her. It will please her, sir, that you have 
been so kind ; and I am much obliged to you." 

So saying, the boy left, little dreaming that his own 
nobleness of character had been as a bright glance of 
sunshine into that busy world he had so tremblingly 
entered. A boy animated by the desire to help his 
mother will always find friends. 



RESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 149 

" Perform a good deed, speak a kind word, give a pleasant smile, and 
you will receive the same in return." 

PASS THEM ON. 

Christmas has gone, but the time for kindly acts 
and good deeds has not gone. Pass them on. The 
Master's commands are all days the same. 

If all the good deeds of men's lives could be passed 
on by those who are made happier by them the world 
would be better. Pass the good deeds on. This is 
gratitude. 

When the Rev. Mark Pearse was about fourteen 
years old he went to London, having been in a school 
in Germany. He stayed in London long enough to 
spend all his money excepting enough to pay his fare 
to his home in Cornwall. 

He went by train to Bristol, and there took passage 
on a vessel. He thought that the passage money in- 
cluded his board, and therefore ordered his meals that 
day. 

At the end of the journey a dapper little steward 
presented a bill for meals to the lad. 

" I have no money," said the surprised boy. 

" Then," replied the steward, " you should not have 
taken your meals at the table. What is your name ?" 

" Mark Guy Pearse." 

The steward closed his book, took the boy by the 
hand, and said : 

" I never thought I should live to see you. My 
mother v/as in great distress years ago. My father 
had died suddenly, and your father was very kind to 
my mother and me. I promised myself then that if I 



150 RESPECT FOR PARENTS AXD THE AGED. 

could ever do so I would show like kindness to some 
one your father loved/' 

The truly grateful steward paid the boy's bill, gave 
him five shillings, and sent him ashore in a boat rowed 
by five sailors. 

Mark's father was waiting to receive his son. 

" Father," said the boy, ^' it is a good thing to have 
a good father ; " and then the story of the steward's 
kindness was told. 

"My lad," said Mr. Pearse, "it is long since I 
passed the kindness on to him in doing what I did. 
Now he has passed it on to you. As you grow up, 
mind that you often pass it on to others." 

Years afterward, when the boy had become a man, 
he was going by rail on a short journey, when he saw 
a boy crying bitterly. 

On asking the cause of his grief, the boy replied 
that he had not enough money by fourpence to pay 
his fare to the town in which he lived. 

Mr. Pearse at once bought the boy a ticket, and 
then related his own experience on the steamer years 
before. 

"And now," he concluded, " I want you to be sure 
and pass this kindness on to others if you are ever 
able to do so." 

As the train left the station, the smiling boy waved 
his handkerchief and said : 

" I will pass it on, sir ; I will pass it on." 

Good deeds, kind acts — pass them on. Pass them. 
The year awaits them — three hundred and sixty-five 
days — full of human needs. 



RESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 151 

FATHER'S VIOLIN. 

Victor had come to live with his grandmother. 

His father had been music teacher in the little town 
of Carfard ; and from his earliest years, Victor had 
looked upon " father^s fiddle '' as the grandest instru- 
ment in existence. Now and then he would be allowed 
to touch it, and sometimes he would be shown how to 
draw the bow across the strings ; and it was the dream 
of his life to grow up to be a musician. 

But his father had died very suddenly, leaving a few 
debts and very little money to pay them with. Every- 
thing had to be sold, even to the little violin, in spite 
of poor Victor^s pleading. 

/^ Nay, Victor,^' answered his mother, in reply to 
his entreaties, " don't make it harder to me than it is. 
I'm sick at heart to have to sell what your father 
loved ; but it is the right thing, dearie ! '' 

And the lad was silent. The things were sold, and 
the debts paid. But the widow had scarcely any 
money left. So she determined to leave the town and 
take her boy into the country, where her good old 
mother lived. Unfortunately, on the way, the poor 
woman was taken ill ; and, within three months after 
his father's death, Victor lost his mother also. 

The boy was, however, better off than many poor 
little orphans ; for his grandmother had a loving heart, 
and a wise head into the bargain. 

She was very fond of Victor ; and he, in his turn, 
thought no one was like grannie. To her, he confided 
all his joys and his troubles ; and, among the latter, 



152 EESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 

you may be sure the loss of the violin was one of the 
chief. 

" Grannie/^ said he one evening, as they were sit- 
ting over the wood fire, ^^ don't you think it was a 
pity mother sold the violin ? Folks needn't have 
known. It would have made very little difference to 
them ; but to me — why, look what a difference it 
would have made to me ! I could have learned to 
play well by this time.'' 

^' 'Twas hard on ye, laddie, I make no doubt. But 
mother was right — yes, mother was quite right," 
repeated the old woman. ^' We can't go far wrong, if 
we stick to the old adage." And she began to croon 

softly : 

" Do thou tliy duty — it is best — 
And leave unto the Lord the rest." 

" It'll come right one of these days, if you only work 
and wait, laddie." 

" But, grannie," pursued the boy, " do you think I 
could do some work now, I mean work for money — 
money enough to buy a violin ? " 

Grannie did not at all see why he should not earn 
money ; and so they entered into a long conversation 
as to the ways and means, the upshot of which was 
that Victor sought and obtained employment for a 
couple of hours every day, at a neighboring farmer's, 
after school hours. 

The next person to be consulted was Morris, the 
2)eddler. He was a great friend of Victor's ; and, 
when he heard of the boy's wish, he declared that he'd 
bring him a fiddle back the very next time he went 



RESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 153 

on his rounds^ if he could possibly find anything both 
good and cheap. 

The peddler had a long round to make, so he did 
not return for over four months. But one day in Sep- 
tember, as Victor was coming home from work, he 
recognized his friend, trudging along with his pack, a 
few paces in front. He could scarcely stop to give 
the usual greetings before he asked anxiously : 

'^How about the violin?'^ 

The peddler laughed, nodded his head, and said he 
had made a longer journey this time, and had been as 
far as Carford ; and there, hanging in a shop, was an 
old violin, marked up so cheap that he went in and 
made inquiries about it at once. 

^' Carford ! " exclaimed Victor. ^^ Why, that's the 
place where we used to live ! I shall love it all the 
more for coming from the home country.'' 

By this time they had entered the cottage, and the 
peddler commenced undoing his pack. At last, he 
came to the bottom ; and, taking the violin from the 
case to give to the boy, he saw Victor's face turn pale 
with excitement. Seizing the violin in both hands, 
he dropped down on a chair in his excitement, and 
fell into an uncontrollable fit of crying. Morris tried 
to rouse him. 

" That'll do, that'll do, old chap. I knew you were 
anxious for it, but I didn't think you'd take on like 
that." 

After a minute Victor looked up. " But you don't 
know all," he sobbed : " it's my own father's fiddle 
come back to me." 



154 RESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 

And so it was. By a curious coincidence, it was 
hanging for sale as the peddler passed through the 
town ; and so the boy regained his treasure, and 
henceforth it became his constant companion. * * ^ 

Years have passed by, and Victor has became a 
famous musician. He often tells his children the 
story of his early days, and always concludes by say- 
ing, ^' Granny's words were good words and true, chil- 
dren: 

" ' Do thou thy duty — it is best — 
And leave unto the Lord the rest.' " 



JUST THE TIME TO BE PLEASANT. 

" Mother 's cross ! " said Maggie, coming out into 
the kitchen with a pout on her lips. 

Her aunt was busy ironing; but she looked up, and 
answered Maggie : — 

"Then, it is the time for you to be pleasant and 
helpful. Mother was awake a great deal in the night 
with the poor baby." 

Maggie made no reply. She put on her hat, and 
walked off into the garden. But a new idea went 
with her. 

" The very time to be helpful and pleasant is when 
other people are cross.'' " Sure enough," thought 
«he, " that would be the time when it would do the 
most good." 

" I remember, when I was sick last year, I was so 
nervous that, if any one spoke to me, I could hardly 



RESPECT FOE PARENTS AND THE AGED. 155 

help being cross ; and mother never got angry nor out 
of patience, but was just as gentle with me ! I ought 
to pay it back now, and I will." 

And she sprang up from the grass where she had 
thrown herself, and turned a face of cheerful resolu- 
tion toward the room where her mother sat, soothing 
and tending a fretful, teething baby. 

Maggie brought out the pretty ivory balls, and be- 
gan to jingle them for the little one. 

He stopped fretting, and a smile dimpled the cor- 
ners of his lips. 

" Couldn't I take him out to ride in his carriage, 
mother ? It 's such a nice morning,^' she asked. 

" I should be glad if you would,'' said her mother. 

The little hat and sack v/ere brought, and the baby 
was soon ready for his ride. 

" I '11 keep him as long as he is good,'' said Maggie ; 
'^ and you must lie on the sofa and get a nap while I 
am gone. You are looking dreadfully tired." 

The kind words and the kiss that accompanied them 
were almost too much for the mother. The tears rose 
to her eyes ; and her voice trembled, as she answered : 

^^ Thank you, dearie : it v/ill do me a world of 
good, if you can keep him out an hour ; and the air 
will do him good, too. My head aches badly this 
morning." 

What a happy heart beat in Maggie's bosom, as she 
trundled the little carriage up and down on the walk ! 

She had done real good. She had given back a 
little of the help and forbearance that had so often 
been bestowed upon her. 



156 EESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 

She had made her mother happier, and given her 
time to rest. 

She resolved to remember, and act on her aunt's 
good word, " The very time to be helpful and pleasant 
is when everybody is tired and cross. '^ 



' " 3fy little children, let ws not love in word, neither in tongue ; but in 
deed and in truth."— 1 John iii, 18. 

WHICH LOVED BEST? 

"T love you, mother," said little John ; 
Then, forgetting his work, his cap went on, 
And he was off to the garden swing, 
And left her wood and water to bring. 

" I love you, mother," said rosy Nell, 
"I love you better than tongue can tell." 
Then she teased and pouted full half the day, 
Till her mother rejoiced when she went to play. 

"I love you, mother," said little Fan ; 

"To-day I'll help you all I can. 
How glad I am that school doesn't keep!" 
So she rocked the baby till it fell asleep. 

Then, stepping softly, she brought the broom, 
And swept the floor, and tidied the room ; 
Busy and happy all day was she. 
Helpful and happy as child could be. 

" I love you, mother," again they said — 
Three little children going to bed. 
How do you think that mother guessed 
Which of them really loved her best? 



RESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 157 



A HOUSEHOLD FAIRY. 

" If I were only a fairy — well ! 
'Twould take me ever so long to tell 
Of all the beautiful things I'd do 
For everybody I loved or knew ; 
For I'd have a wonderful wand of gold, 
Like fairies carried in days of old. 

" Mother should have a house as grand 

As any you see in all the land ; 

A cap of lace and a velvet gown, 

And a carriage to ride about the town ; 

She never should do a thing all day 

But hold her hands like a lady gay ; 

And all this tiresome, tiresome work, 

Which every day I am glad to shirk, 
, Would just be done — wouldn't that be fine? — 

The minute I waved that wand of mine ! 

** That's what I'd like to do ; but, oh ! 
I'm only a bit of a girl, you know, 
Working away at homely things, 
And not a fairy with shining wings. 
I haven't a wand ; and if I had 
Perhaps the fairies would think it sad, 
If they had a chance to look and see 
What a fearfully lazy girl I'd be. 

""But I have two nimble hands, that know 
How to knit and to mend and sew, 
How to cook and to dust and sweep — 
Come, and I'll let you take a peep. 
So I'll hurry and do my very best 
While mother sits by the fire at rest, 
And she will think, if she does not say. 
One little fairy's alive to-day, 
And for everything that a girl should do 
Can wave, not one little wand, but two." 

— Sidney Dayre, in Youth^s Companion. 



158 RESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 



THE SILENT MAN. 

Among the reminiscences of the war, the following 
extract from an interview with an old Virginia Meth- 
odist preacher is interesting : 

" Yes, my house was full of your generals last night. 
There was Sheridan, Humphreys, Meade, Custer, Ord, 
and quite a number of others; and they were a lively 
set and full of fun, and quite jolly, with the exception 
of one officer, whom I noticed sitting apart from the 
others, smoking and taking but little part in the sports 
in which they v/ere engaged. They all went out of 
the house but this solitary, silent man ; and, as I was 
going out, he asked me where the pump was, as he 
would like to get a drink. On oifering to get him 
some water, he said : ^ No, sir ; I am a younger man 
than you. I will go myself' And, as I passed out, 
he came out behind me, when, in about the middle 
of the hall, my little grand-daughter came running 
toward me ; but the silent man, spreading out both 
arms, caught her, taking her up, fairly smothered with 
kisses, said, ' This reminds me of my little girl at 
home, and makes me homesick.' To the question, 
' Where is your home ? ' he replied, ^ Galena, 111. ; but 
I have my family at City Point, and am anxious to 
get back to them.' I said, ' Will you permit me to 
ask your name, sir ? ' ' Certainly. My name is Grant.' 
'Grant,' exclaimed I : 'General Grant?' And I 
stood there, awe-stricken and paralyzed with aston- 
ishment, while my heart went out after this man. I 
thought to myself. Here is a man whose name is now 



RESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 159 

in the mouth of every man, woman, and child through- 
out the civilized world, and yet withal he exhibits no 
emotion and seems unconcerned and unmoved until 
the little child reminds him of his loved ones at 
home ; and I fairly broke down, as General Grant had 
been pictured to us as a bloody butcher, and I had 
looked for a man looking as savage as a Comanche 
Indian. To say I was agreeably disappointed when I 
saw Grant expresses my feelings but feebly.'' 

— Christian Register, 



"IZe that hath pity upon the poor lendeth to the Lord; and that which 
he hath given mil he pay him again." — Prov. xix, 17. 

THE LOST CHANGE. 

A woman, feeble and bent with age and overwork^ 
stepped into a New York horse-car. 

She hobbled to a seat (fortunately there was one 
vacant), and, depositing her bundle on the floor, pro- 
ceeded to fumble in her pocket for her fare. 

After much searching, she produced a quarter, which 
she handed to the conductor. 

He returned the change to her trembling fingers ; 
but, before she could put it in her pocket, a piece — 
probably a dime — fell to the floor, and was lost be- 
tween the slats at her feet. Jn vain did she try to 
find it. 

It pained her to bend so low, and with a look of 
resignation she gave it up. 

A tall man, dressed in black, sat facing her, and 
watched her intently as she leaned back in her seat. 



160 EESPECT FOR PATIENTS AND THE AGED. 

His hand went to his pocket, then, stooping for- 
ward, he appeared to be looking for the lost coin, and 
with an ^^Ah ! here it is, madame,'^ he stretched his 
hand to the floor, and, raising it, deposited the money 
in her lap. 

He rose and immediately left the car. The old 
woman beckoned to the conductor, and, showing him 
a five-dollar gold piece, asked if he had not given it 
to her by mistake. 

He assured her he had given her two dimes. 

She could not understand how she came by it, but 
a few of the passengers could ; and, as she put her 
hand to her face to hide the tears of joy that dimmed 
her eyes, some one whispered the stranger's name. 

He is one of the best-known philanthropists of 
New York, a member of a family noted for many 
years, far and wide, for its countless good deeds. 
New York Tribune, 



TRUE WORTH. 161 

CHAPTER YIII. 

TRUE WORTH. 

" Character is what you are ; reputation is what people think you are." 
-Memory Gems. 
" As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he." 

THE MANLIEST MAN. 
The manliest man of all the race, 
Whose heart is open as his face, 
Puts forth his hand to help another. 
'Tis not the blood of kith or kin ; 
'Tis not the color of the skin ; 
'Tis the true heart which beats within, 
Which makes the man a man and brother. 

His words are warm upon his lips. 

His heart beats to his finger-tips, 
He is a friend and loyal neighbor; 

Sweet children kiss him on the way, 

And women trust him, for they may ; 

He owes no debt he can not pay ; 
He earns his bread with honest labor. 

He lifts the fallen from the ground. 
And puts his feet upon the round 

Of dreaming Jacob's starry ladder. 
Which lifts him higher, day by day. 
Toward the bright and heavenly way, 
And farther from the tempter's sway, 

Which stingeth like the angry adder. 

He strikes oppression to the dust, 

He shares the blows aimed at the just, 
He shrinks not from the post of danger ; 

And in the thickest of the fight 

He battles bravely for the right. 

For that is mightier than might. 
Though cradled in an humble manger. 
11 



162 TRUE WORTH. 

Hail to the manly man ! fie comes 
Not with the sound of horns and drums, 

Though grand as any duke, and grander ; 
He dawns upon the world, and light 
Dispels the weary gloom of night, 
And ills, like bats and owls, take flight. 

He's greater than great Alexander. 

George W. Bungay. 



BEAUTIFUL THINGS. 

Beautiful faces are those that wear — 
It matters little if dark or fair — 
Whole-souled honesty printed there. 

Beautiful eyes are those that show, 

Like crystal panes where hearth-fires glow, 

Beautiful thoughts that burn below. 

Beautiful lips are those whose words 
Leap from the heart like songs of birds, 
Yet whose utterance prudence girds. 

Beautiful hands are those that do 

Work that is earnest, and brave, and true, 

Moment by moment, the long day through. 

Beautiful feet are those that go 
On kindly ministries to and fro — 
Down lowliest ways, if God wills it so. 

Beautiful slioulders are those that bear 
Ceaseless burdens of homely care 
With patient grace and daily prayer. 

Beautiful lives are those that bless; 

Silent rivers of happiness, 

Whose hidden fountains but few may guess. 

— The Day^priitg. 



TRUE WORTH. 163 



"Seest thou a man diligent in business f he shall stand before kings ; he 
shall not stand before mean men. — Prov. xxii, 29. 

THE PRINTER BOY. 

About the year 1725, an American boy, some nine- 
teen years old^ found himself in London, where he 
was under the necessity of earning his bread. He 
was not like many young men in these days, who 
wander about seeking work, and who are '^ willing to 
do anything'* because they know how to do nothing; 
but he had learned how to do something, and knew 
just where to go to find something to do. So he 
went straight to a printing office, and inquired if he 
could get employment. 

^' Where are you from ? " inquired the foreman. 

^' America,'^ was the answer. 

" Ah,'' said the foreman, " from America ! a lad 
from America seeking employment as a printer ! "Well, 
do you really understand the art of printing? Can 
you set type ? " 

The young man stepped to one of the cases, and in 
a brief space set up the folio Aving passage from the 
first chapter of John : " Nathaniel said unto him, Can 
there any good thing come out of Nazareth ? Philip 
saith unto him. Come and see." 

It was done so quickly, so accurately, and admin- 
istered a delicate reproof so appropriate and powerful 
that it at once gave him influence and standing with 
all in the office. He worked diligently at his trade, 
refused to drink beer and strong drink, saved his 
money, returned to America, became a printer, pub- 



164 TEUE WORTH. 

lisher, author, Postmaster-General, member of Con- 
gress, signer of the Declaration of Independence, 
ambassador to royal courts, and finally died in Phila- 
delphia, April 17, 1790, at the age of eighty-four, full 
of years and honors; and there are now more than a 
^hundred and fifty counties, towns, and villages in 
America named after that same printer boy, Benjamin 
Franklin, the author of ^' Poor Richard's Almanac." 
— The Little Christian. 



MY PORTION. 

Very little of gold have I, 
Wealth and station have passed me by ; 
But something sweet in my life I hold, 
That I would not change for place or gold. 
Beneath my feet the green earth lies, 
Above my head are the tender skies. 
I live between two heavens : my eyes 
Look out to where, serene and sweet. 
At the world's far rim two heavens meet. 

I hear the whisperings of the breeze, 

That sweet, small tumult amid the trees; 

And many a message comes to me 

On the wing of bird, in the hum of bee. 

From the mountain peak and the surging sea. 

E'en silence speaks with voice so clear 

I lean my very heart to hear. 

And all above me, and all around. 

Light and darkness and sight and sound 

To soul and sense such meanings bring, 

I thrill with a rapturous wondering. 

And I know by many a subtle sign 
That the very best of life is mine. 



TRUE WORTH. 165 

And yet, as I spell each message o'er, 

I long and long for a deeper lore ; 

I long to see and I long to hear 

With a clearer vision, a truer ear ; 

And I pray with the keenest of all desire 

For the lips that are touched by the altar fire. 

Patience, O Soul ! from a little field 
There cometh often a gracious yield : 
Who toucheth his garment's hem is healed. 

— Christian Register. 

WHAT DOES IT MATTER? 

It matters little where I was born, 

Or if my parents were rich or poor ; 
Whether they shrank at the cold world's scorn 

Or walked in the pride of wealth secure ; 
But whether I live an honest man, 

And hold my integrity firm in my clutch, 
I tell you, my brother, as plain as I can. 

It matters much ! 

It matters little how long I stay 

In a world of sorrow, sin, and care ; 
Whether in youth I am called away. 

Or live till my bones of flesh are bare ; 
But whether I do the best I can 

To soften the weight of adversity's touch 
On the faded cheek of my fellow man. 

It matters much ! 

It matters little where be my grave, '* 

Or on the land, or on the sea ; 
By purling brook, or 'neath stormy wave. 

It matters little or nought to me; 
But whether the angel of Death comes down 

And marks my brow with his loving touch. 
As one that shall wear the victor's crown, 

It matters much ! — William Andrew Sigourney. 



166 TRUE WORTH. 

^^The love of money is the root of all evil." — I Tim, vi, 10. 
ABOUT MONEY. 

Some boys and girls have an idea that money can 
do almost anything, but this is a mistake. Money, it 
is true, can do a great deal, but it can not do every- 
thing. I could name you a thousand things it can 
not buy. It was meant for good, and it is a good 
thing to have, but all this depends on how it is used. 
If used wrongly, it is an injury rather than a benefit. 
Beyond all doubt, however, there are many things 
better than it is, and which we can not purchase, no 
matter how much we may have of it. If a man has 
not a good education, all his money can not buy it for 
him. He can scarcely ever make up for his early waste 
of opportunities. He may say, as I have heard of men 
saying, '^ I would give all I have if I had only had a 
good education and a well-trained mind ; '^ but he 
will say it in vain. His money alone can't obtain it. 
!J^either will wealth itself give a man or a woman good 
manners. Nothing, next to good health, is of more 
importance than easy, graceful, self-possessed manners. 
But they can't be had for mere money. A man who 
is what is called '^ shoddy,'' who has not taste and 
correct manners, will never buy them, though he 
would, no doubt, like to. They are not to be had in 
the market. They are nowhere for sale. You might 
as well try to buy sky, or cloud, or sunbeams. Money 
can't purchase a good conscience. If a poor man, or 
a boy, or a girl — any one — has a clear conscience, that 
gives ofiP a tone like a sound bell when touched by the 



TRUE WORTH. 167 

hammer, then be sure he is vastly richer than the 
millionaire who does not possess such a conscience. 
Good principles are better than gold. All the gold 
of Golconda couldn't buy them for a man who hasn't 
them already. — Pennsylvania School Journal. 



A RUSSIAN FABLE. 

A peasant was one day driving some geese to a 
neighboring town, where he hoped to sell them. He 
had a long stick in his hand ; and, to tell the truth, he 
did not treat his flock of geese with much consider- 
ation. I do not blame him, however ; he was anxious 
to get to the market in time to make a profit ; and 
not only geese, but men, must expect to suffer if they 
hinder gain. 

The geese, however, did not look on the matter in 
this light ; and, happening to meet a traveler walking 
along the road, they poured forth their complaints 
against the peasant who was driving them. 

'^ Where can you find geese more unhappy than we 
are ? See how this peasant is hurrying on this way 
and that, and driving us just as though we were only 
common geese. Ignorant fellow as he is, he never 
thinks how he is bound to honor and respect us ; for 
we are the distinguished descendants of those very 
geese to whom Home once owed its salvation, so that 
a festival was established in their honor." 

" But for what do you expect to be distinguished 
yourselves ? '^ asked the traveler. 



168 TRUE WORTH. 

" Because our ancestors '^ — 

" Yes, I know : I have read all about it. What I 
want to know is what good have you yourselves 
done?'' 

^' Why, our ancestors saved Rome." 

" Yes, yes ; but what have you done of the kind ? " 

'' We ? Nothing." 

^^ Of what good are you then ? Do leave your an- 
cestors at peace. They were honored for their deeds ; 
but you, my friends, are only fit for roasting." 

— Christian at Work, 



TRYING TO FLY. 
A LITTLE SKETCH WITH A MORAL. 

The following pleasing sketch is from the pen of 
Kate W. Hamilton, a clever writer for young folks : 

It was a bright, warm day. Mike was threshing 
in the barn, whjle the sunshine streaming in at the 
open door turned the grain dust to gold. Outside in 
the yard were the children and the chickens — the for- 
mer idle enough, and the latter running here and 
there and scratching as vigorously as if their lives 
depended upon their own exertions. Presently Win- 
nie picked up the dish in which she had brought the 
corn and went back to the house ; but the younger 
children lingered, declaring that the pleasant autumn 
day was just like summer. From watching the chick- 
ens they began to watch the doves on the roof of the 
barn. 

"I'd rather be a bird than a chicken," said Georgie. 



TRUE WORTH. 169 

" I'd like to be a bird/' said Nell^ dreamily ; " tliea 
I'd fly away up in the sky. I b'lieve I could 'most 
fly to heaven. Any way, I'd go 'way off over the 
ocean." 

" Why can't we fly ?" asked Georgie, wonderingly. 
^^ I never thought about that." 

" 'Cause we don't have any fezzers," exclaimed 
Teddie, turning round from his post of observation 
by the barn door. 

" That's it ; we haven't any feathers or wings/^ 
said Nell ; " if we had I guess v/e could fly." 

^' I'm going to have some right now/' declared 
Teddie, jumping down from the steps and beginning 
to pick up some of the feathers scattered about the 
yard ; " then I'll fly 'way off." 

That was a brilliant idea ! The little girls opened 
their eyes wide in wonder for a minute, and then they 
followed Teddie's example, and three pairs of little 
hands worked busily. They stuck feathers in their 
belts, feathers in their hair, feathers in their shoes^ 
and then, with a great bunch in each hand, they 
climbed to the top of the chicken house " to get a 
good start," as Georgie said. 

^^ I — I — don't know how," admitted Teddie, rather 
doubtfully, as they stood in a row on the roof of the 
low building. 

" Why, you must flop your wings just this way/^ 
said Nell, waving her hands wildly ; " and when I 
say ^ three' we'll jump off and fly. One, two, three P* 

The jumping was easy enough, but alas for the fly- 
ing ! Down among the straw and hay of the bam- 



170 TRUE WORTH. 

yard tumbled three disconsolate little figures, and 
Teddie, striking an arm against an old wagon box, 
set up a cry of pain, which brought Mike from the 
barn. 

^' And why couldn't ye fly ?" repeated Mike, when 
he had heard the story. " Why, because the wings 
was none of your own, and nobody can fly with bor- 
rowed ones. If ye'll just remember that it'll be some- 
thing worth learnin', for there's plenty of older folks 
than you that's thryin' to do it. They fly into splen- 
dor on other people's money, and into good society 
on the responsibility of their families, and some of 'em 
€ven think to fly into heaven on the goodness of their 
fathers and mothers. They'll never do it. It's noth- 
ing but pickin' up feathers in the barnyard, and it'll 
end in a tumble." 

Mike went back to his work, and if the children 
did not quite understand him Nell caught a part of 
his meaning, for she said, " Well, if we can't make 
good birds I guess we can make good children, and 
we'll have to wait till God gives us wings." 



TOMMY TUCKER'S BOOK. 

As I went down to the meadow this morning, whom 
should I see bat Tommy Tucker, half buried in a 
cosy heap of Farmer Brown's new hay. He was read- 
ing out of a book with yellow paper covers ; but, when 
I came near, he gave a little start, closed the book and 
slipped it out of sight. Tommy and I are quite good 



TEUE WORTH. 171 

friends, so I knew when he put the book away so 
quickly that it was something he was ashamed of. 

^^A bright day to you. Tommy Tucker/' I said. 
^' Don't let me stop your reading. Indeed, if your 
book is so interesting as it seemed to be a minute ago, 
and, if you don't object, I wish you would read it 
aloud." 

Tommy's face flushed crimson. 

^^I — I don't think you would care for the story, 
Mr. Earlston ; and I'd—I'd rather talk." 

Now this was so unlike the straightforward Tommy 
Tucker, who tells me all his little secrets, that I said 
right out, *^ Surely, Tommy Tucker doesn't read books 
that he is ashamed to let his friends see ! " 

The blush which had begun to die out on Tommy's 
face came back with a deeper glow. 

'^ I don't know that it's very wrong," ssid he. ^'It's 
only a boy who went off to kill Indians, and who 
fought six highwaymen single-handed and beat them 
all, and rescued a lot of soldiers who had been cap- 
tured, and had a great many other wonderful adven- 
tures. I'll sliow you the book, sir," continued Tommy, 

" No, don't," I said. '^ I don't want to read any 
book that you think bad enough to hide from me." 

Tommy looked hurt, but did not say anything, so 
I went on : 

"You see, Tommy, I am just taking your own 
judgment on the book. It isn't so very wrong, you 
say; and yet it is so wrong that you would rather I 
hadn't seen it, neither would you like to go home and 
read it to your little brothers. If it isn't a wicked 



172 TRUE WORTH. 

book, it is a foolish book. Who ever heard of a 
boy who did the wonderful things that your hero does 
in the story everyday? It isn't likely that you'll 
ever be called upon to fight a band of highwaymen ; 
and it isn't likely that you'll whip six of them single- 
,,, handed, if you have to fight them,^' 

I Tommy was silent. 

" May I ask you a question, Tommy ? Does the 
reading of that book make you study your lessons 
better, or make you more content at home, or fit you 
better for the every-day work you have to do ? Or, 
does it take you away from your lessons, and make 
you discontented with home, make you want to do 
impossible things instead of the plain things God has 
given you to do ? " 

^^ You are right, Mr. Earlston," said Tommy, for- 
getting that I had only asked some questions, and that 
he was really answering the accusation of his own con- 
science, ^^ you are right. It is a foolish book ; and, 
if it isn't wicked, it was making me wicked. It was 
making me careless in everything. Mother doesn't 
know why my school averages were lower last week, 
and why I forgot some errands I had to do. She 
didn't know about the book. I didn't want Tier to 
know. I will never read a book again that I don't 
want her to know of." 

He took the book from his pocket and tore it into 
pieces. 

" Tommy Tucker," I said, " you will never go far 
wrong if you don't hide anything from your mother." 



PEOMPTNESS. 173 

CHAPTEE IX. 

PROMPTNESS. 

" Boast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou knowest not what a day may 
bring forth." — TroY. xxvii, 1. 

TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW. 

Don't tell me of to-morrow. 

Give me the boy who'll say- 
That when a good deed's to be done, 
" Let's do the deed to-day." 
We may all command the present 

If we act, and never wait ; 
But repentance is the phantom 

Of a past that comes too late. 

Don't tell me of to-morrow. 

There is much to do to-day 
That can never be accomplished 

If we throw the hours away. 
Every moment has its duty; 

Who the future can foretell? 
. Then why put off till to-morrow 

What to-day can do as well? 

Don't tell me of to-morrow. 

If we look upon the past, 
How much we have left to do 

We can not do at last ! 
To-day ! It is the only time 

For all on this frail earth. 
It takes an age to form a life ; 

A moment gives it birth. 



1 74 PR0MPT2S ESS. 



NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT. 

If you're told to do a thing, 

And mean to do it really, 
Never let it be by halves ; 

Do it fully, freely. 

Do not make a poor excuse, 

Waiting, weak, unsteady; 
All obedience worth the name 

Must be prompt and ready. 

If you're told to learn a task, 

And you should begin it. 
Do not tell your teacher, "Yes, 

I'm coming in a minute." 

Waste not moments nor your words 
In telling what you could do 
■ Some other time ; the present is 
For doing what you should do. 

Don't do right unwillingly, 

And stop to plan and measure ; 
'Tis working with the heart and soul 

That makes our duty pleasure. 

— Phcebe Gary. 



No element in a person^s character is more valuable 
in the ^' business world'^ than promptness. No banker 
could succeed without it. A merchant must be 
prompt, and must require his clerks and customers 
to be so. A lawyer must attend to his business 
promptly. The physician must go promptly when 
called. Railroad trains must be on time, and so must 
the people who ride on them be on time. Since we 
" study for life and not for school/' pupils should 



PEO^rPTNESs. 1 75 

learn to be prompt by being prompt in all their school 
work. 

A person who Has to run to catch the train — gets 
there only by the " skin of his teeth '' — is not on time ; 
he is not prompt. A pupil v/ho rushes into the school 
building, and goes up the stairs two steps at once, and 
just gets in, is not on time. He is forming the habit 
of putting things off. He is not forming the habit of 
promptness. He is living up to the letter, but not to 
the spirit. Be prompt in all things. 



HARRY'S KNIFE. 

Harry never tired of looking at his new pen-knife* 
He thought his big Cousin Jack a very nice young 
man, because he chose him so fine a birthday present. 
And then, all at once, he blushed. 

No vv^onder Harry blushed. Here it was three 
o'clock, and Cousin Jack\s rabbits had not been shut 
up and fed yet ! And such mischief as the little 
brown hungry rogues had made in the garden ! And 
Cousin Jack had asked him to feed them, give them 
a run on the lawn, and then shut them up in their 
pen ! 

And there was Cousin Jack, just driving up from 
town, where he had been all day. He looked sur- 
prised, for he saw the rabbits leaping up the terrace 
and down again. Without a word, he helped Harry 
catch the rogues and shut them up. " Now jump in 



176 PROMPTXESS. 

the carriage," said he, '^and I'll take you where your 
knife was made/' Harry was surprised when they 
stopped at the grim old iron foundry. Cousin Jack 
picked up a piece of iron mixed with clay. " Here's 
stuff for a dozen bright knife-blades/' said he. 

Then, Harry saw the men put the rough iron into 
a stove with limestone and charcoal and burn it. 
Then he saw the melted iron pour like a stream of 
iire from a hole in the bottom of the stove into beds 
of sand. 

" When this iron is cold," said Cousin Jack, ^' they 
call it pig-iron. It is not nice enough yet for birthday 
knife-blades. Besides, it would break and crumble, 
if they tried to shape it now." 

They put the pig-iron into the fire again, and heated 
it gently, so that it was softer. " Now," continued 
Cousin Jack, smiling, "it is malleable iron. It can 
be pounded flat, and shaped without breaking." 

Next, it was pounded flat, then heated hot and cut 
into knife-blades, then plunged into cold water several 
times, then polished, then sharpened, 'and at last it 
was ready to be set into the handle. 

" Knife-handles," said Cousin Jack, "are made from 
elephant tusks, ox and buflalo horns, cocoa wood, and 
shells of pearl eysters." 

" Mine is a pearl one," said Harry ; " and I wish I 
had fed your rabbits and shut them up." — Our Little 
Men and Women, 



" It is what we do that counts, not what we intend 
to do." 



PROMPTNESS. 177 

EARLY RISING FLOWERS. 

All the flowers are still fast asleep. The buds on 
the trees and bushes have their winter coats on yet ; 
some of them have even their little fur tippets. The 
mountains are covered with snow; and, early in the 
morning, little frost stars sparkle on the dry blades of 
grass. But, in the garden, the snowdrop is already 
peeping out of the brown earth. It stretches up its 
green leaves, and between them is the dear little 
flower. The snowdrop is the early riser among the 
flowers, the very first one that shows its tiny face 
above the snow. It tells us that spring is coming, 
and looks so neat and pretty in its green frock and 
and snow-white overskirt — ^just like a little maid on a 
holiday. 

But how does the snowdrop contrive to be the early 
riser? I will let you into the secret, for I know that 
you would like to be an early riser too. 

In the autumn, when all the flowers went to bed, 
Snowdrop put everything in order for the morning. 
The white bulb, deep under the ground, is her little 
bed-room. The fine, soft coverings of the bulb are 
her bed-clothes, and in them she sleeps snugly. Here, 
in her little room. Snowdrop has laid everything in 
order that she wants to put on when she gets up early 
in the spring. There, the stem has commenced 
already to grow. The two green leaves lie cosily in 
a white case of silken, soft skin. On the end of the 
short stem is the little flower with its three white outer 
leaves and three yellow-green inner leaves, and its six 
12 



178 PROMPTNESS. 

golden stamens. All is enveloped in the fine case as 
in a cloak. The parts of the flower are still very 
small, particularly the stem ; but they are all ready, 
waiting for spring. In spring, they will only need to 
stretch themselves to shoot up, to unfold themselves, 
and the flower will be perfect. 

In the summer-time, Snowdrop even prepared her 
breakfast. In the thick skin of the bulb, she gath- 
ered all kinds of food, to feed the stem, leaves, and 
flowers in the early spring-time. 

During the long winter, little Snowdrop sleeps as 
soundly as her companions. But, when the snow 
begins to thaw, she wakes up, finds everything in 
order for early rising, eats a little breakfast quickly, 
and then comes out of the earth bright and fresh, long 
before the other flowers have opened their eyes. 

From this, you may learn, little one, that whoever 
will be an early riser must lay everything in order the 
night before, so as to find all ready early in the morn- 
ing. Then, you will be the first down-stairs, unless 
you go to sleep again after you have been called. — From 
the German of Hermann Wagner, 



ALWAYS LATE. 

Half the value of anything to be done consists in 
doing it promptly. 

And yet a large class of persons are always more or 
less unpunctual and late. Their work is always in 
advance of them, and so it is with their appointments 
and engagements. 



PEOMPTNESS. 179 

They are late, very likely, in rising in tlie morning 
and also in going to bed at night ; late at their meals ; 
late at the counting-house or office ; late at their ap- 
pointments with others. 

Their letters are sent to the post-office just as the 
mail is closed. They arrive at the wharf just as the 
steamboat is leaving it. They come into the station 
just as the train is going out. 

They do not entirely forget or omit the engagement 
or duty, but they are always behind time, and so gen- 
erally in haste, or rather in a hurry, as if they had 
been born a little too late, and forever were trying to 
catch up with the lost time. 

They waste time for themselves and waste it for 
others, and fail of the comfort and influence and suc- 
cess which they might have found in systematic and 
habitual punctuality. 

A good old lady, who was asked w^hy she was so 
early in her seat in church, is said to have replied that 
it was her religion not to disturb the religion of 
others. 

And if it were with all a part, both of courtesy and 
duty, not to say of religion, never to be unpunctual, 
they would save much vexation of spirit. 



To be always intending to live a new life, but never 
to find time to set about it — this is as if a man should 
put off eating and drinking and sleeping from one day 
and night to another till he is starved and destroyed. 
— Tillotson, 



180 PROMPTNESS. 



NEXT YEAR. 



" Next year, next year," we say, 
When come to naught 
Our plans and projects gay. 
Our bright dreams, fraught 

With brighter hopes, that shine 

On that far rim 
Of life's horizon line 

Where dreams lie dim 

And touched with morning dew. 
" Next year, next year ;" 
And while we plan anew 
The days grow sere. 

The year has fled, and lo ! 

We've left behind 
The glory and the glow 

We hoped to find. 

And missed again the clew 

We meant to heed — 
The cherished plan to do 

Some cherished deed. 

" Next year, next year !" 
Oh ! why not now, 
Delaying soul, this year, 
Keep word and vow? 

Oh ! why not now and here ? 

Why not to-day, 
Before another year 

Shall run away. 

Keep word and faith or ere 

An hour's delay — 
Make good the promise fair 

To-day, to-day ? 

— Nora Peiry, in the Companion. 



PEOMPTNESS. 181 

GIANT DELAY. 

This giant has another very long name. It is Giant 
Procrastination. It always says : ^^ Never mind about 
doing as mother says just now. After awhile will 
do — there^s no hurry.^^ Do you ever hear anybody 
talking in that way, dear children ? If you do you 
may be sure Giant Delay is around. One day Annie 
was playing in the garden. Her mother called her to 
come and take care of baby brother a few minutes. 
Giant Delay said : ^' There^s no hurry ; just finish this, 
and then you can go.^^ Mamma thought she was 
coming right away ; so she left the room a moment. 
Annie still listened to Giant Delay, until she heard a 
scream from the baby, when she went in and found 
he had fallen and hurt himself. If you stop to listen 
to this giant, you may be sure some trouble will fol- 
low for which you may be sorry. You had better 
kill him at once ; for if he grows strong with you, he 
will cheat you out of a great many pleasures, and not 
give you half time to perform your duties aright. So 
the sooner you kill him, the better it will be. 



182 KINDNESS. 

CHAPTER X. 

KINDNESS. 

Words of kindness we have spoken 
May, when we have passed away, 
Heal, perhaps, a spirit broken, 
Guide a brother led astray. 

— J. Hagen. 
The drying up a single tear has more 
Of honest fame than shedding seas of gore. 

— Byron. 
Kindness by secret sympathy is tied ; 
For noble souls in nature are allied. 

— Dryden. 
In nature there's no blemish but the mind ; 
None can be call'd deform'd but the unkind. 

— Pope. 
Kindness has resistless charms ; 

All things else but weakly move ; 
Fiercest anger it disarms, 

And clips the wings of flying love. 

—Earl of Rochester. 

A WORD TO BOYS. 

You are made to be kind, boys — generous, mag- 
nanimous. If there is a boy in school who has a 
club-foot, don't let him know you ever saw it. If 
there is a poor boy with ragged clothes, don't talk 
about rags in his hearing. If there is a lame boy, 
assign him some part in the game that doesn't require 
running. If there is a hungry one, give him part of 
your dinner. If there is a dull one, help him get his 
lesson. If there is a bright one, be not envious of 



KINDNESS. 183 

him ; for if one boy is proud of his talents, and an- 
other is envious of them, there are two great wrongs, 
and no more talent than before. If a larger or 
stronger boy has injured you, and is sorry for it, for- 
give him. All the school will show by their counte- 
nances how much better it is than to have a great fuss. 
— Horace Mann. 



A KINDLY ACT. 

M'lle Anne Dronsert, a promising pupil of the 
Conservatoire, was sitting one morning at her window 
in the Kue Sertier, when a poor woman came along 
the street singing in a low and broken voice, in the 
hope of earning a few sous. Her glance was directed 
pitifully toward the houses on either side ; but the 
windows all remained closed, and the much needed 
help came not. She turned sorrowfully away to try 
her fortune in another quarter ; but the aching limbs 
refused to carry her further, and the poor woman sank 
down on the pavement. It was but the work of a 
moment for Anne Dronsert to fly down the stairs to 
the succor of her unfortunate sister, to raise her from 
the ground, and to read starvation plainly written on 
her wan features. Money she had none to give ; her 
own studies and the necessities of daily life absorbed 
the whole of her little pittance; but she took the 
woman's hand in hers, and with the full force of her 
young voice woke the echoes of the street with one 
of the airs which had so often won the admiration of 
the professors at the Conservatoire. Like magic, the 



184 KINDNESS. 

windows on all sides flew open ; and at the conclusion 
of the song a shower of silver pieces rained down, 
until at last the poor woman was sent on her way 
with a sum of seventy francs. It reads almost like a 
tale of Ouida's, but it is a true story for all that. — 
Lynn Transcript. 



^^ Pretty is as pretty does." 
THE UGLY DUCHESS. 

The following story is told of the Duchess de Berri : 

She was extremely fond of Dieppe, and passed a 
great deal of her time there in summer. Indeed, it 
is said that the town owes to her fostering patronage 
the establishment of the workshops for the production 
of those exquisite ivory carvings which are well known 
to every stranger that has tarried at Dieppe. 

One summer evening a fisherman met a plainly 
dressed lady, walking alone on the beach. He ven- 
tured to accost her, saying that he had a petition 
vdiich he wished to present to the Duchess de Berri, 
but that he did not know how to proceed in order to 
do so. 

" Did you ever see the duchess ? ^^ asked the lady. 

^^ No," was the answer ; " but I am told that she is 
very ugly." 

" Give me the petition, at all events," said the ques- 
tioner; "and it shall be placed in the hands of the 
princess herself." 

The fisherman complied with the request; and, a 
few days later, he was summoned to the villa of the 



KINDNESS. 185- 

duchess. What was his dismay, on being introduced 
to the presence of the princess, to find that she was 
the person to whom he had given his petition ! He 
commenced to stammer forth some incoherent excuse, 
but Marie Caroline interrupted him. 

^^ Your petition is granted/' she said, smiling ; " and 
henceforth, when people say that the Duchess de Berri 
has an ugly face, do you add, ^ But she has also a kind 
heart.''' 



COMFORTING A CAT. 
Once upon a time, a little orphan girl lived with an 
ill-tempered old woman called Sarah, in an almshouse 
in Stockholm. Johanne, as the lassie was named, 
used to make hair plaits ; and, whenever Sarah took 
them to market to sell them, she would lock the door 
and keep poor Johanne prisoner till she came back. 
But Johanne was a good little girl, and tried to forget 
her troubles by working as hard as she could. How- 
ever, one fine day, she could not help crying, as she 
thought of her loneliness ; but noticing the cat, as 
neglected as herself, she dried her tears, took it up in 
her lap, and nursed it, till pussy fell asleep. Then 
she opened the window to let in the summer breeze, 
and began to sing with a lighter heart as she worked 
at her plaits. And, as she sang, her beautiful voice 
attracted a lady, who stopped her carriage that she 
might listen. The neighbors told her about Johanne, 
and the lady placed her in school. Then she was 



186 KINDNESS. 

entered as a pupil elsewhere, aud in course of time, 
under the name of Jenny Lind, ^^ the Swedish night- 
ingale/^ became the most famous singer of her day. 
— English paper. 

THE LITTLE NURSE, 

When the celebrated philanthropist Florence Night- 
ingale was a little girl, and living in Derbyshire, En- 
gland, everybody was struck with her thoughtfulness 
for people and animals. She even made friends with 
the shy squirrels. When persons were ill, she would 
help nurse them, saving nice things from her own 
meals for them. 

There lived near the village an old shepherd named 
Roger, who had a favorite sheep-dog named Cap. This 
dog was the old man's only companion, and helped in 
looking after the flock by day and kept him company 
al night. Cap was a very sensible dog, and kept the 
sheep in such good order that he saved his master a 
deal of trouble. 

One day, Florence was riding out with a friend, 
and saw the shepherd giving the sheep their night feed ; 
but Cap was not there, and the sheep knew it, for 
they were scampering about in all directions. Flor- 
ence and her friend stopped to ask Roger why he was 
so sad, and what had become of his dog. 

" Oh,'' he replied, " Cap will never be of any more 
use to me. I'll have to hang him, poor fellow, as 
soon as I get home to-night." 

'' Hang him ! " said Florence. " Oh, Roger, how 
wicked of you ! What has poor old Cap done ? " 



KINDNESS. 187 

" He has done nothing/^ replied Eoger ; " but he 
will never be of any more use to me, and I can not 
afford to keep him. One of the mischievous school- 
boys threw a stone at him yesterday, and broke one 
of his legs.^^ And the old shepherd wiped away the 
tears which filled his eyes. " Poor Cap/^ he said, ^' he 
was as knowing as a human being.'^ 

" But are you sure his leg is broken ? ^^ asked Flor- 
ence. 

" Oh, yes, miss, it is broken, sure enough ; he has 
not put his foot on the ground since.'' 

Then Florence and her friend rode on. 

" We v/ill go and see poor Cap," said the gentle- 
man. " I don't believe the leg is really broken. It 
would take a big stone and a hard blow to break the 
leg of a great dog like Cap." 

^^ Oh, if you could but cure him, how glad Roger 
would be ! " exclaimed Florence. 

When they got in the cottage, the poor dog lay 
there on the bare brick floor, his hair disheveled and 
his eyes sparkling with anger at the intruders. But, 
when the little girl called him " poor Cap," he grew 
pacified, and began to wag his short tail. Then he 
crept from under the table, and lay at her feet. She 
took hold of one of his paws, patted his rough head, 
and talked to him while the gentleman examined the 
injured leg. It was badly swollen, and hurt him very 
much to have it examined ; but the dog knew it was 
meant kindly, and, though he moaned and winced 
with pain, he licked the hands that were hurting 
him. 



188 KIXDXESS. 

'^ It's only a bad bruise. No bones are broken/' 
said the gentleman. ^' Rest is all Cap needs ; he will 
soon be well again.'' 

" I am so glad ! " exclaimed Florence. " But can 
we do nothing for him ? He seems in such pain." 

" Plenty of hot water to foment the part would both 
ease and help to cure him." 

"Well, then/' said the little girl, "I will foment 
poor Cap's leg." 

Florence lighted the fire, tore up an old flannel pet- 
ticoat into strips, which she wrung out in hot water,' 
and laid on the poor dog's bi^iiise. It was not long 
before he began to feel the benefit of the application, 
and to show his gratitude in looks and wagging his 
tail. On their way home, they met the old shepherd 
coming slowly along with a piece of rope in his 
hands. 

" Oh, Roger ! " cried Florence, " you are not to 
hang poor old Cap. We have found that his leg is 
not broken after all." 

" No, he will serve you yet," said the gentleman. 

" Well, I am most glad to hear it," said the old 
man ; " and many thanks to you for going to see 
him." 

The next morning, Florence was up early to bathe 
Cap. On visiting the dog, she found the swelling 
much gone down. She bathed it again, and Cap was 
as grateful as before. 

Two or three days later, when Florence and her 
friend were riding together, they came up to Roger 
and his sheep. Cap was there, too, watching the 



KINDNESS. 189 

sheep. When he heard the voice of the little girl, his 
tail wagged and his eyes sparkled. 

''Do look at the dog, miss/' said the shepherd, 
"he's so pleased to hear your voice. But for you, I 
would have hanged the best dog I ever had in my 
life." — Youth's Temperance Banner. 



THE OBSTINATE LOUISE. 

Here is an anecdote of Victor Hugo, told by his 
secretary, M. Lesclide : A charitable lady, Madam 
Paul Meurice, used, during the siege of Paris, to dis- 
tribute the poet's alms, besides many gifts of her own, 
to the necessitous during that trying time. She came 
one day to tell Victor Hugo of a poor woman whom 
she had found in the most wretched state of destitu- 
tion, and immediately received from him a hundred 
franks for the alleviation of her needy protege. A 
hundred franks, even with siege prices, could be made 
by care to go a long way ; and the poet was accord- 
ingly somewhat surprised when next day Madam 
Meurice told him that ^' Louise was as badly off as 
ever." " What about the hundred francs of yester- 
day ? " "Ah ! the hundred francs. She has given 
them away to poor mothers, to little children starving 
of hunger and cold." " Good ! Here is another hun- 
dred francs upon the express condition she keeps them 
for herself." 

" Is it only on this condition he gives them ? " said 
Louise, on hearing this message. " Exactly." " Then 



1 90 KINDNESS. 

you may take tliem back. Thank Victor Hugo for 
Ills good intentions, for which I am grateful." 

Madam Meurice was embarrassed. She dared not 
take the money back to Victor Hugo, and so handed 
it unconditionally to the ^^ obstinate Louise.'' The 
obstinate Louise was no other than Louise Michel. — 
Pall Mall Gazette. 



LENDING A HAND. 

About forty years ago, several haulers were em- 
ployed in carrying pig-iron from Braymbo to Queen's 
Ferry. Among the number was one William Grif- 
fiths, who is still alive. This man, when going down 
Tinkersdale one day with his load of iron, was accosted 
by a stranger, who chatted very freely with him. 
Among the questions, the stranger asked how much 
he got per ton for carrying the iron. 

" Six and sixpence," said the carter. 

" "What weight have you on the cart ? " 

" About a ton and a half." 

" And what do you pay for gates ? " 

'^ Eighteen pence. '^ 

^' How much does it cost to keep the mare ? " 

^^ Thirteen shillings a week." 

Presently they reached the foot of the Mill, Hill. 
" How are you going to get up this hill ? " asked the 
stranger. 

" Oh, I mun get my shuder, and push up here." 

" I'll help you a bit," said he ; and he at once put 
his shoulder to the cart, and pushed up the liill well. 



KINDNESS. 191 

When they reached the top, the hauler said, " You 
an' me been as good as a chain horse.'^ 

" Well, well,'' said the stranger, ^' I don't know 
how the poor horse's legs are, but mine ache very 
much indeed. I suppose you can manage now?" 

" Yes, thank you," said the hauler ; and, wishing 
him good-day, they separated. As soon as the stranger 
was gone, a tradesman asked Griffiths if he knew who 
had been helping him. 

^^ No," said he, ^' he's a perfect stranger to me." 

'^ That was Mr. Gladstone," said the tradesman. 

" Mr. Gladstone ! " responded the hauler. ^^ I dun 
know what he'll think o' me, then ; for I never sir'd 
him, nor nothin'. I thought he was some farmer." 
— Christian Register. 



SAVED BY A TENDER ACT. 

William Wirt in his younger days was a victim to 
the passion for intoxicating drink, which has been the 
bane of so many distinguished in the legal profession. 
Affianced to a beautiful, intelligent and accomplished 
young woman, he had made and broken repeated 
])ledges of amendment ; and she, after patiently and 
kindly enduring his disgraceful habits, at length dis- 
missed him, deeming him incorrigible. Their next 
meeting after his dismissal was in a public street in 
the city of Richmond. Wirt lay drunk and asleep 
on the sidewalk, on a hot summer day, the rays of the 
sun pouring down on his uncovered head, and the 
flies crawling over his swollen features. As the 



392 KIXDXESS. 

young lady approached in her walk her attention was 
attracted by the spectacle, strange to her eyes, but, 
alas ! so common to others who knew the victim as 
to attract little remark. She did not at first recognize 
the sleeper, and was about to pass on, when she was 
led by one of those impulses which form the turning 
points in human lives to scrutinize his features. What 
Avas her emotion when she recognized her discarded 
lover ! She drew forth her handkerchief, and care- 
fully spread it over his face, and hurried away. 
"When Wirt came to himself he found the handker- 
chief, and in one corner the initials of the beloved 
name. With a heart almost breaking with grief and 
remorse, he made a new vow of reformation. He 
kept that vow, and finally married the owner of the 
handkerchief. — Christian Register. 



WHY HE DID NOT WIN. 

The following true incident, though a trifle, has a 
suggestive meaning for many readers : 

It was the day for the public exhibition of athletic 
sports in Blank College. The grand stand was 
crowded with matrons and pretty maidens. Below, 
the faculty, the trustees, and fathers of the boys un- 
bent from their grave dignity, and laughed over base- 
ball games and races of fifty years ago. Around the 
ring were crowded the students from a rival college. 
The men who were to take part iii the '• events '^ of 
the day wore close-fitting flannel suits of the college 
colors, white and blue. 



KINDNESS. 193 

Two brothers stood near each other. The breast of 
one was covered with silver and gold medals ; the 
other had not one. 

"Champion, hundred yards dash." *^ First prize, 
L. L. tournament." " First prize, mile run," said a 
bystander, reading some of the inscriptions on the 
medals. " How many of these things have you, Joe? '' 

" He has over twenty at home," said his brother, 
eagerly. 

"And you none, Tom ? How is that ? " 

"Never could come in first. I think I shall take 
a gold bar to-day though. There is one thing I can 
do — the hurdle race." 

" Oh ! " cried a child^s voice behind him, in a tone 
of bitter disappointment. 

Tom turned, and saw a little girl seated by a poorly- 
dressed woman. Both were looking at him with 
startled, disappointed faces. 

"Who are they?" Tom whispered to his friend. 

" Bradford's mother and sister. One of the charity 
students. He's in the hurdle race. I suppose they 
thought the poor wretch would win the gold medal 
and be asked to dinner with Prox to-night, along with 
the first prize men." 

"Yes," said Tom, thoughtfully, as he walked away. 

Bradford was a dull fellow, he remembered, and 
neglected by most of the students who were better 
clothed and better bred than himself. If the boy won 
this prize and appeared at the president's state dinner, 
it would certainly give him a standing, in future, 
among the boys. A moment later, a lady who knew 
13 



194 KINDNESS. 

him, called Torn to the grand stand. " This will be the 
victor in the hurdle race/' she said to the ladies near 
her, who smiled; while Tom blushed and laughed. 

The sports began. One event succeeded another. 
The hurdle race was called. Tom and Bradford 
started together, but Tom passed him easily. All of 
the hurdles were passed but one. Tom glanced aside, 
saw the strained face of the shabby woman and the 
child's tearful eyes, and the next instant tripped and 
fell, while Bradford leaped past him. 

The president himself gave the prizes. The band 
played and the men shouted, as he handed the gold 
medal to Bradford. Joe had, as usual, half a dozen 
prizes. Tom stood by, without any. 

But the president said to the lookers-on : " There 
was nothing to trip that boy. He fell purposely, that 
Bradford might win." 

" Shall not you let him know that you know it ? " 

'^ No ; the man who can conquer himself, even in a 
trifle, needs no other reward." — The YouWs Com- 
panion. 

SMILES AND GENTLE WORDS. 

A smile is but a little thing 

To the happy giver, 
Yet full oft it leaves a calm 

On life's boisterous river. 

Gentle words are never lost, 
Howe'er small their seeming ; 

Sunny rays of love are they 
O'er our pathways gleaming. 

— IVeasure Trone, 



KINDNESS. 195 

^*Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them." — 
Matt, vi, 1. 

DOING GOOD UNOSTENTATIOUSLY. 

The death of Eichard T. Merrick, of Washington, 
one of the best lawyers in this country, has called out 
the following incident, which shows that he was as 
great in the qualities of his heart as of his head. It is 
told by the Washington correspondent of the Times: 

" While he was busy over his law books one day in 
his Washington office, just after the war closed, a thin 
and careworn middle-aged lady entered the room^. 
She was dressed in widow's weeds, and her eyes 
dropped hesitatingly as they encountered the keert 
glance of the lawyer. She told her story between? 
nervous starts and frequent hesitations. At times her 
soft brown eyes would look up to the cold face before 
her, as if mutely appealing for sympathy from the 
lawyer. Yet not a word did Merrick say until she 
had finished. Then he abruptly asked only a prac- 
tical question as to whether she had any documentary 
evidence to produce. From the pocket of her wid- 
ow's dress she brought forth a packet tied with faded 
ribbon. ' Perhaps you might want to look these over, 
Mr. Merrick,' she said. ' Very well, madam, leave 
me your address ; and, when I need them, I'll send 
you word. Good-day.' The door swung in and back, 
shutting out the little figure in black with its pathetic 
face. Weeks followed, and Mr. Merrick's client had 
received no word from him. At last, unable to bear 
the suspense of hope too long deferred, the anxious 



196 KINDNESS. 

woman once more climbed the stairs to the busy law- 
yer's office. A brisk and imperative ^ Come in ! ' in 
answer to her knock, invited or rather ordered her to 
enter. An officious young man sat at a table, scratch- 
ing away at a paper before him. He took in his vis- 
itor at a glance, and rudely demanded her purpose. 
* I'd like to see Mr. Merrick if I could,' she faltered. 
^Well, you can't see him.' 'Is — is he — busy?' 'I 
should say he was. What do you want with him, 
anyhow?' 'He told me he would write to me; but I 
haven't heard from him yet, so I thought' — 'Oh, 
you thought! Why didn't you wait till you did hear 
from him ? I tell you what, you'd better go home, and 
wait for that letter you say he promised to write. 
I've no time to be bothered just now. Good-by.' 
The pompous young man waved the caller to the 
door, and turned once more to save the world by 
grinding the end off the point of his pen. 

"Just as the poor woman, the tears starting from 
her eyes, was about to withdraw, the half-closed door 
of the inner office opened, and Richard T. Merrick 
himself, with his face flushed and indignation blazing 
from his eyes, strode in. ' Young man, I've no fur- 
ther use for you.' The young man did not hesitate. 
The tone of the lawyer left him no room for doubt, 
and he left without ceremony. Then that forlorn 
caller was made happy. Mr. Merrick had that very 
day discovered evidence that substantiated all hor 
claims. But more. He had discovered, too, that the 
husband whom she married had been a member of 
his own company in the army, when there v/as a title 



KINDNESS. 197 

of Captain Merrick in the Mexican war. The money 
she sought, to which he was able to prove the justice 
of her claiiiij he promised should be in ker possession 
eventually ; but in the mean time, for there was dan- 
ger of the law's delays, the lawyer — he vv^hom the 
world had sometimes rated as cold-hearted — asked, 
for the sake of the old Mexican war memories, to 
provide her with funds sufficient to give her ease and 
comfort. To-day this lady lives in a Maryland coun- 
try town, one of the many who mourn the departure 
of a generous spirit— generous away from the world's 
gaze.'' — The Christian Union, 



THE BIRDS' CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

In most of the provinces of Norway there is a 
pretty custom of feeding the wild birds on Christmas 
day. All the animals belonging to a family have 
double their usual dinner, and share in a great festival. 

The kind-hearted peasants also fasten up wisps of 
oat-straw all about their houses for the birds, who are 
quick to tell each other the news, and flocking down 
in great numbers to peck at the grain. 

In the town, great bunches of unthreshed oats are 
brought to the market-place ; and, no matter how 
poor the people are, they will be sure to have one bit 
of money saved to buy the birds a feast. 

The little sheaves are seen fastened on the house- 
tops and outside the windows ; and nobody in Nor- 
way would frighten a bird that day, if he could 
help it. 



198 KINDNESS. 

It is certainly worth while to make the least of 
God's creatures happy ; and many of those fowls of 
the air who do not gather into barns are good servants 
of the farmer, and eat up the insects that would de- 
stroy his crops. 

Suppose the boys and girls take a lesson from the 
Norwegians this year, and throw out a dinner of 
crumbs for some of the birds, and tie a bunch of grain 
here and there on the trees and fences for the wander- 
ers who may need food in the cold winter days that 
are to come. — Youth's Compayiion. 



WHAT ONE WOMAN DID. 

Some years ago, in a foreign city, horses were con- 
tinually slipping on the smooth and icy pavement of a 
steep hill, up which loaded wagons and carts were 
constantly moving. Yet no one seemed to think of 
any better remedy than to beat and curse the poor 
animals who tugged and pulled and slipped on the 
hard stones. 

No one thought of a better way, except a poor old 
woman, who lived at the foot of the hill. It hurt 
her to see the poor horses slip and fall on the slippery 
pavement, so that every morning, old and feeble as 
she was, with trembling steps she climbed the hill, 
and emptied her ash-pan and such ashes as she could 
collect from her neighbors on the smoothest spot. 

At first the teamsters paid her very little attention ; 
but, after a little, they began to look for her, to ap- 
preciate her kindness, and to be ashamed of their own 



KINDNESS. 199 

cruelty, and to listen to her req^uests that they would 
be more gentle to their beasts. 

The town officials heard of the old lady's work, and 
they were ashamed, too, and set to work to leveling 
the hill and re-opening the pavement. Prominent 
men came to know what the old woman had done, and 
it suggested to them an organization for doing such 
work as the old lady had inaugurated. All this made 
the teamsters so grateful that they went among their 
employers and others with a subscription paper, and 
raised a fund that brought the old lady an annuity for 
life. So one poor old woman and her ash-pan not 
only kept the poor, overloaded horses from falling, 
and stopped the blows and curses of their drivers, but 
made every animal in the city more comfortable, im- 
proved and beautified the city itself, and excited an 
epoch of good feeling and kindness, the end of which 
no one can tell. 

"A soft answer tumeih away wrath ; hut grievous tvords stir up anger J* 
— Prov. XV, 1. 

WATCH YOUR WORDS. 

Keep watch of your words, my darlings, 

For words are wonderful things ; 
They are sweet, like bees' fresh honey — 

Like bees they have terrible stings. 
They can bless, like the warm glad sunshine, 

And brighten a lonely life ; 
They can cut, in the bitter contest, w. 

Like an open, two-edged knife. 

Let them pass through the lips unchallenged. 

If their errand is true and kind — 
If they came to support the weary, 

To comfort and help the blind. 



200 KINDNESS. 

If a bitter, revengeful spirit 

Prompt the words, let them be unsaid; 

They may flash through a brain like lightning, 
Or fall on a heart like lead. 

Keep them back, if they're cold and cruel, 

Under bar and lock and seal; 
The wounds they make, my darlings, 

Are always slow to heal. 
May peace guard your lives, and ever, 

From the time of your early youth, 
May the words that you daily utter 

Be the words of beautiful truth. 



CAREFUL BOB. 

Bob was an old horse on my great-grandfather's 
farm. He was a very clever horse; but it is not so 
much for his cleverness as for one thoughtful thing 
which he did that his name has been handed down to 
us who live so long after him, and who never saw 
him. 

He was very fond of children. The boys who lived 
near used to have many a pleasant game with Bob on 
sunny afternoons when he was grazing in the fields or 
by the roadside. Sometimes they chased Bob, and 
sometimes he chased them ; and it was a funny sight 
to see the old horse running after a troop of boys, 
uttering a peculiar whinny, which said as plain as 
words could say, *^ Isn't this real fun, boys ? '' 

One day Bob was coming slowly through the one 
long street of the village, dragging a loaded cart be- 
hind him. There, right in the middle of the street, a 
little child was sprawling iu the dust. No one noticed 



KINDNESS. 201 

it until Bob and the cart were close upon it. Was 
the child to be trodden beneath the horse's feet, or 
crushed beneath the broad wheel of the cart ? No ; 
just as the mother rushed out of a doorway with a 
shriek, Bob stooped down, seized the child's clothing 
wdth his teeth, and laid the little one on the foot-path 
out of harm's way. It was done tenderly, quietly, 
and it was over in a moment. Then the wise horse 
went on, as if he had done nothing surprising. 

Do you wonder that we keep Bob's memory green ? 
And isn't his thoughtfulness a lesson for little boys 
and girls whose common excuse for carelessness which 
injures others is, ^^ I didn't think?" .Bob thought, 
and his thinking saved a child's life. — Sunday-SchooT 
Times. 



PIERROT, THE FAITHFUL. 

I was hurrying along the Boulevard de Comcelles. 
A female rag-picker, pale and famished, led by the 
bridle a poor little donkey, which seemed a hundred 
years old, and which dragged a poor little cart full 
of the rubbish of the street — rags, broken bottles, 
torn papers, worn-out skillets, crusts of bread— the 
thousand nothings which are the fortune of the rag- 
pickers. The woman had done good work since mid- 
night, but the donkey was ready to drop. 

The sight touched and arrested me. A man v/ould 
have cursed and beaten the poor beast to arouse him. 
The woman looked at him with an eye of motherly 
pity. The donkey returned the look, as if saying r 



202 KIXDXESS. 

'^ You see it is all over. I have done my best for you 
night after night, because I saw your misery was 
greater than mine. You have treated me well, shar- 
ing your bread with me, and your neighbor's oats, 
when you could get them. But I am dying at last.'' 

The woman looked at him, and said, gently : 
'^ Come, come, dear Pierrot, do not leave me here." 
She lightened the load by taking out a basket of 
broken bottles. ^^ Come, now," she said, as if talking 
to a child, " you can get along nicely now." She put 
her shoulder to the wheel, but the donkey did not 
move. He knew that he had not strength to walk to 
St. Ouen, his wretched home. She still coaxed him. 
" How do you think vre can get along this way, Pier- 
rot? To be sure, I could drag the cart. But I can't 
put you in It, and you would be ashamed to be dragged 
after it." The donkey raised his ears, but no move. 

I was going to speak to her, when she ran into the 
nearest bake-shop. The donkey followed her with 
anxious eyes. He seemed fearful that he would die 
without his mistress. He was so little you would 
have taken him for a Pyrenean dog. He had grown 
gray in the harness. A few tufts of gray hair re- 
mained here and there on his emaciated body. He 
looked like a mountain burned bare in many places. 
His resigned air showed a mind free from worldly 
vanities. He was far past the age when one strikes 
attitudes. He was almost transparent in his leanness, 
but his face was all the more expressive. It had 
something almost human in its intelligence and good- 
ness. Why had he been condemned to such suffering? 



KINDNESS. 203 

The rag-picker soon returned, bringing a piece of 
bread and a lump of sugar. The donkey turned, and 
showed his teeth, like old piano keys. But, although 
it was his breakfast time, he had no more strength in 
his mouth than in his legs. She gave him the sugar. 
He took it as if to oblige her, but* dropped it agaiD, 
and the same with the bread. ^^Ah, what shall I do ? '^ 
said the rag-picker. She thought no more of her cart. 
She was full of anxiety for her friend Pierrot. " Pier- 
rot ! " she cried again. Two great tears came to her 
eyes. She took his head in her arms, and kissed him 
like a child. The caress did what nothing else could 
do. The donkey roused himself, and brayed as in his 
best days. 

I approached, and said to the woman : " You seem 
to be in trouble.'^ 

^^ Oh ! " she said, crying, " if you knew how I love 
this beast. I saved him from the butchers four years 
ago. In those days I had only a hod. I have raised 
seven children with my hook. The father is gone, 
and one other, and my eldest daughter was taken only 
a fortnight ago. It's no use. You can't take good 
care of them when you work in the streets all 
night.'' 

One of my friends passed by. I said : " Let us buy 
this donkey, and put him on the retired list. This 
good woman will take care of him. How much did 
the donkey cost ? " I asked. 

"Ten francs." 

'^ Go back, and buy another donkey, and take care 
of this one," I said, putting the money into her hand. 



204 CONTENTMENT. 

That evening the woman came to me in tears. I 
understood at once. 

^^ Oh^ sir, he is gone ! " 

"Poor Pierrot?" 

" Yes^ sir. Yv^e got to St. Ouen one way or another ; 
but, when he came in sight of our hut, he fell on his 
knees. I tried to raise him up, but this' time it was 
all over. Think of it ! he wanted to die at home, after 
finishing his day^s work.''— Jo honnot^s Natural History, 



CHAPTER XI. 

. CONTENTMENT. 

•"^ Contentment,^^ says Webster, "is a resting or sat- 
isfaction of the mind, without disquiet ; acquiescence." 
This does not mean the satisfaction of mind that 
makes one indolent. It means the satisfaction that 
comes from doing one's best under the circumstances. 
It means an absence of forgetfalness and worry. It 
means the ability to enjoy what we have, to make the 
best of it. It means to do cheerfully what seems best ; 
to keep a good heart. Not to grumble and snarl and 
whine and frown. 

He that holds fast the golden mean, 
And lives contentedly between 

The little and the great, 
Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, 
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, 

Embittering all his state. 

— Cow per: Horace. 



CONTENTMENT. 205 

Still all great souls still make their own content ; 
"We to ourselves may all our wishes grant; 
For, nothing coveting, we nothing want. 

— Dryden. 

My crown is my heart, not on my head ; 
Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones, 
Nor to be seen ; my crown is call'd content ; 

A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. 

— Shakespeare. 



BE THANKFUL. 

^^ I don't want any supper/' said Kate. " Nothing 
but bread and milk and some cake — just the same 
every night." 

"Would you like to take a little walk?'' asked 
mamma, not noticing Kate's remarks. 

"Yes, mamma." 

Kate was pleased so long as their walk led through 
pleasant streets ; but when they came to narrow, dirty 
ones, where the houses were old and poor, she wanted 
to go home. " Please, mamma, don't go any farther." 

" We will go into the corner house," said mamma. 

Some rough-looking men were sitting on the door- 
steps. Kate felt afraid, and held tight hold of her 
mamma's hand ; but on they went up the tottering 
steps- to the garret. So hot and close it was that they 
could scarcely breathe. On a straw bed near the win- 
dow lay a young girl asleep, so pale and thin and still 
she looked as if she were dead. 

Hearing footsteps, she opened her eyes. Mamma 
uncovered her basket, and gave the girl a drink of 
milk, and placed the bread and cake beside her. 



2eb CONTENTMENT. 

Kate's eyes filled with tears as she saw the girl eat 
her supper. Not a mouthful had she tasted since 
early morning. 

Her poor mother had been away all day working, 
and now came home wishing she had something nice to 
bring her sick child. When she found her so well cared 
for, she could not thank mamma and Kate enough. 

The supper seemed a feast to them. 

" If we can keep a roof over our heads,'' she said, 
"and get a crust to eat, we are thankful." 

Kate never forgot those words. Let us all learn 
the same lesson, and cease complaining and fault- 
finding. If we have a home and food to eat, let us 
thank God; for many wander the streets homeless 
and hungry. — The Standard, 



CONTENT. 
A hermit there was 

Who lived in a grot, 
And the way to be happy 

They said he had got. 
As I wanted to learn it, 

I went to his cell ; 
And this answer he gave, 

As I asked him to tell : 

" 'Tis heing^ and doing, 

And hewing, that make 
All the pleasures and pains 

Of which mortals partake. 
To he what God pleases, 

To c?o what is best, 
And to hxive a good heart. 

Is the way to be blest." 



CONTENTMENT. 207 



THE ISLE OF CONTENT. 

There's a land in the latitude near to us all, 
Where each dweller may follow his bent. 

It is under no monarch's tyrannical thrall, 
And is known as the Isle of Content. 

It's a wonderful spot. If you ask it will bring 

To you quickly whate'er you desire : 
What it can not produce (it's a singular thing), 

That is just what you never require. 

By the balmiest zephyrs of happiness fanned, 

It is neither too cold nor too hot ; 
And the lassies and laddies never care in this land 

Whether school is in session or not. 

In Content, though but poor, yet you feel, ne'ertheless^ 

You are equal in wealth to a king; 
While a tear in the trousers or darn in the dress 

You consider a capital thing. 

If you haven't the money to purchase a meal 
(I have been in that strait once or twice), 

Take a reef in your vest, and you'll instantly feel 
(If you live in Content) " very nice." 

When I notice a lad with a bright, sunny smile 

That extends for three inches or more. 
Then I nudge myself inwardly, thinking the while, 

"He's encamped on Content's happy shore." 

I have dwelt on this beautiful island at times. 

While inditing small verses for you ; 
And I often have wondered if, reading my rhymes, 

You were there as a resident too. 

— St. Nicholas^ 



"208 CONTENTMENT. 



WHERE DO YOU LIVE? 

I knew a man, and his name was Horner, 
Who used to live on Grumble Corner, 
Grumble Corner in Cross-Patch Town, 
And he never was seen without a frown. 
He grumbled at this ; he grumbled at that; 
He grumbled at the dog; he grumbled at the cat ; 
He grumbled at morning ; he grumbled at night ; 
And to grumble and growl was his chief delight. 

He grumbled so much at his wife that she 

Began to grumble as well as he ; 

And all the children, wherever they went, 

Reflected their parents' discontent. 

If the sky was dark and betokened rain, 

Then Mr. Horner was sure to complain ; 

And if there was never a cloud about. 

He'd grumble because of a threatening drought. 

His meals were never to suit his taste ; 
He grumbled at having to eat in haste ; 
The bread was poor, or the meat was tough. 
Or else he hadn't half enough. 
No matter how hard his wife might try 
To please her husband, with scornful eye 
He'd look around, and then, with a scowl 
At something or other, begin to growl. 

One day, as I loitered along the street. 
My old acquaintance I chanced to meet. 
Whose face was without the look of care 
And the ugly frown that he used to wear. 

"I may be mistaken, perhaps," T said. 
As, after saluting, I turned my head ; 

^'But it is, and isn't it, the Mr. Horner 
Who lived for so long on Grumble Corner?" 



CONTENTMENT. 209 

I met him next day; and I met him again, 

In melting weather, in pouring rain, 

"When stocks were up, and when stocks were down ; 

But a smile somehow had replaced the frown. 

It puzzled me much ; and so, one day, 

I seized his hand in a friendly way. 

And said, " Mr. Horner, I'd like to know 

What can have happened to change you so ? 

He laughed a laugh that was good to hear, 

For it told of a conscience clean and clear ; 

And he said, with none of the old-time dread, 
*' Why, I've changed my residence, that is all ! " 
'' Changed your residence? " " Yes," said Horner, 
''It wasn't healthy on Grumble Corner, 

And so I've moved ; 'twas a change complete ; 

And you'll find me now on Thanksgiving street." 

Now, every day, as I move along 

The streets so filled with the busy throng, 

I watch each face, and can always tell 

Where men and women and children dwell. 

And many a discontented mourner 

Is spending his days on Grumble Corner, 

Sour and sad, whom I long to entreat 

To take a house on Thanksgiving street. 



CONTENT AS A KING. 

Once upon a time — so runs tlie stoiy, and a pleas- 
ant story it is — when Louis XII. of France was at the 
royal castle of Plessis-les-Tours, he went one evening 
into the kitchen, where he found a small boy engaged 
in turning a spit for the roasting of a loin of beef. 
The lad had a peculiarly bright-looking face, keen, 
14 



210 CONTENTMENT. 

bright eyes, and features really fine ; and his appear- 
ance greatly prepossessed the king in his favor. 

Laying a hand upon his head, he asked the little 
fellow who he was. 

The boy, looking up and seeing a plain-looking 
man, in a hunting garb, supposed he might be speak- 
ing with one of the grooms, or, perhaps, chief riders, 
of the royal stables. 

He answered, very modestly, that his name was 
Simon. He said he came from La E-oche, and that 
his parents were both dead. 

'^And are you content with this sort of Avork?^' 
Louis asked., 

^^^^hy not?'' answered the boy, with a twinkle in 
his eye and a suggestive nod. ^' I am as well off as 
the best of them. The king himself is no better." 

^' Indeed ! Hov/ do you make that out ? '' 

" "Well, fair sir, the king lives, and so do I. He can 
do no more than live. Further, I am content. Ls the 
king that ? " 

Louis walked away in a fit of thought deep and 
searching. And the image of that boy remained in 
his mind even after he had sought his pillow. 

On the next day, the astonishment of the turnspit 
may be imagined upon being summoned to follow a 
page, and finding himself in the presence of the king, 
and the king his visitor of the previous evening. 

On the present occasion, Louis conversed further 
with the lad, when he found him to be as intelligent 
and naturally keen-witted as he had at first appeared. 

He had sent for him with the intention of making 



CONTENTMENT. 211 

him a page ; but, instead thereof, he established him 
in his chamber as a page-in-waiting — really the posi- 
tion of a gentleman. 

And Louis had not been deceived in his estimate of 
the boy^s abilities. 

The youth served Louis faithfully, and in the last 
years of the reign of Francis I. he was known and 
honored as General Sir Simon de la Roche. 



THE STORY OF GRUMBLE TOM. 

There was a boy named Grumble Tom who ran away to sea, 
" I'm sick of things on land," he said, " as sick as I can be I 
A life upon the bounding wave will suit a boy like me ! " 

The seething ocean billows failed to stimulate his mirth^ 
For he did not like the vessel or the dizzy, rolling berth. 
And he thought the sea was almost as unpleasant as the earth. 

He wandered into foreign lands, he saw each wondrous sight, 
But nothing that ho saw or heard seemed just exactly right. 
And so he journeyed on and on, still seeking for delight. 

He talked with kings and ladies fair, he dined in courts, they say, 

But always found the people dull, and longed to get away, 

To search for that mysterious land where he should like to stay. 

He wandered over all the world, his hair grew white as snow. 
He reached that final bourne at last where all of us must go. 
But never found the land he sought. The reason would you know ? 

The reason was that north or south, where'er his steps were bent, 
On land or sea, in court or hall, he found but discontent ; 
For he took his disposition with him everywhere he went. 

— St. Nicholas, 



212 CONTENTMENT. 



SUPPOSE. 



Suppose, my little lady, 

Your doll should break her head; 
Could you make it whole by crying 

Till your eyes and nose were red ? 
And wouldn't it be pleasanter 

To treat it as a joke, 
And say you're glad 'twas dolly's 

And not your head that broke? 

Suppose you're dressed for walking, 

And the rain comes pouring down ; 
Will it clear off any sooner 

Because you scold and frown ? 
And wouldn't it be nicer 

For you to smile than pout, 
And so make sunshine in the house, 

When there is none without ? 



I 



-Phoebe Cary. 



THE BROKEN ARROW. 

A little boy went to his mother with a broken 
arrow, and begged her to mend it for him. It was a 
very beautiful arrow, and the delight of his heart, so 
his mother was not surprised when she saw his quiv- 
ering lip and the tears in his eyes. '' I'll try to mend 
it, darling," she said ; "but I am afraid it will be impos- 
sible." He watched her anxiously for a few moments, 
and then said, cheerfully : '^ Never mind, mamma, if 
you can not fix it. I'll be just as happy without it." 
Who will try this week to imitate that little boy, and, 
if troubles come, make up his mind to bear them 
bravely and cheerfully? 



CONTENTMENT. 213 

AN INDIAN LEGEND. 

The following story, selected from the " Life Les- 
sons of an Eastern Teacher/' may be applicable in all 
climes and by all people : 

^' There was once a beautiful damsel upon whom 
one of the good genii wished to bestow a blessing. 
He led' her to the edge of a large field of corn, where 
he said to her : 

^' ^ Daughter, in the field before us the ears of corn 
in the hands of those who pluck them in faith shall 
have talismanic virtues, and the virtue shall be in pro- 
portion to the size and beauty of the ear gathered. 
Thou shalt pass through the field once and pluck one 
ear. It must be taken as thou goest forward, and 
thou shalt not stop in thy path, nor shalt thou retrace 
a single step in quest of thine object. Select an ear 
full and fair, and according to its size and beauty shall 
be its value to thee as a talisman.' 

^^ The maiden thanked the good spirit, and then set 
forward upon her quest. As she advanced she saw 
many ears of corn — large, ripe, and beautiful, such as 
calm judgment might have told her would possess 
virtue enough ; but in her eagerness to grasj) the very 
best, she left these fair ears behind, hoping that she 
might find one still larger and fairer. At length, as 
the day was closing, she reached a 2)art of the field 
where the stalks were shorter and thinner, and the 
ears were very small and shriveled. She now re- 
gretted the grand ears she left behind, and disdained 
to pick from the poor show around her, for here she 



214 CONTENTMENT. 

found not an ear wliicli bore perfect grain. She went 
on, but, alas ! only to find the stalks more and more 
feeble and blighted, until in the end, as the day was 
closing and night coming on, she found herself at the 
€nd of the field without having plucked an ear of an^ 
kind. 

" No need that she should be rebuked for her folly. 
She saw it clearly when too late, as how many, in all 
climes and in all ages, in the evening of life, call sadly 
jind regretfully to mind the thousand golden oppor- 
tunities forever lost because they were not plucked in 
their season ! ^' — Christian at Work. 



BETTER WHISTLE THAN WHINE. 

As I was taking a walk I noticed two little boys on 
their way. to school. The small one stumbled and 
fell, and, though he was not much hurt, he began to 
whine in a babyish way — not a regular roaring boy 
cry, as though lie were half-killed, but a little cross 
whine. 

The older boy took his hand in a kind, fatherly 
y/ay, and said : 

'^ Oh, never mind, Jimmy, don't whine ; it is a 
great deal better to whistle. '^ 

And he began in the merriest way a cheerful boy 
whistle. 

Jimmy tried to join the whistle. 

^^I can't whistle as nice as you, Charlie," said he; 
'^ my lips won't pucker up good." 



CONTENTMENT. 215 

"Oh, that is because you have not got all the 
whine out yet/' said Charlie ; "but you try a minute, 
and the whistle w^ill drive the v/hine away/' 

So he did ; and the last I saw or heard of the little 
fellows they were whistling away as earnestly as though 
that was the chief end of life. — Early Deiv. 



A RUSSIAN FABLE. 

On the monument erected to Krilof, the " Eussian 
JEso-p/^ is a bass-relief telling pictorially one of his best 
fables, that of " Fortune and the Beggar : '' 

A wretched beggar, carrying a ragged old wallet, 
was creeping along from house to house ; and as he 
grumbled at his lot he kept wondering that folks 
vv'ho lived in rich apartments, and were up to their 
throats in money and in the sweets of indulgence, 
should be always unsatisfied, however full their pock- 
ets might be, and that they should go so far as often 
to lose all they have, while unreasonably craving for, 
and laying their hands on, new riches. 

" Here, for instance,'' he says, " the former master 
of this house succeeded in trading prosperously, and 
made himself enormously rich by commerce. But 
then, instead of stopping and handing over his busi- 
ness to another and spending the rest of his years in 
peace, he took to equipping ships for the sea in the 
spring. He expected to get mountains of gold ; but 
the ships were smashed, and his treasures were swal- 
lowed up by the waves. Now they all lie at the bot- 
tom of the sea ; and he has found his riches melt away 



216 CONTENTMENT. 

like those in dreams. Another man became one of 
the farmers of the spirit tax, and so gained a million. 
That was a trifle, and he wanted to double it. So he 
plunged up to his ears in speculations, and was utterly 
ruined. In short, instances of this are countless. 
And quite right, too : a man should use discretion.'' 

At this moment Fortune suddenly appeared to the 
bego-ar and said : 

^' Listen ! I have long wished to help you. Here 
is a lot of ducats I have found. Hold out your wal- 
let, and I w^ill fill it with them, but only on this con- 
dition : all shall be gold that falls into the wallet ; 
but if any of it falls out of the wallet to the ground 
it shall all become dust. Consider this well ; I have 
warned you beforehand. I shall keep strictly to my 
compact. Your wallet is old. Don't overload it be- 
yond its powers." 

Our beggar is almost too overjoyed to breathe. He 
scarcely feels the ground beneath his feet. He opens 
his wallet ; and, with generous hand, a golden stream 
of ducats is poured into it. The wallet soon becomes 
rather heavy. 

" Is that enough ? " 

" Not yet." 

'' Isn't it cracking ? " 

^^ Never fear.". 

*' Consider, you're quite a Croesus." 

" Just a little more ; just add a handful ! " 

^' There, it's full. Take care, the wallet is going to 
burst." 

" Just a little bit more." 



CONTENTMENT. 217 

But, at that momeDt, the wallet split, the treasure 
fell through and turned to dust, and Fortune disap- 
peared. The beggar had nothing but his empty wal- 
let, and remained as poor as before. 



MAMMA'S SUNBEAM. 

Willie was one of the dearest little boys when he- 
was happy, and was loved devotedly by his papa, 
mamma and two aunts who lived in the family. The 
house in which they all lived was in the country, and 
had windows on all sides. Willie played out of doors 
every pleasant day, and was not happy when the 
weather prevented his being out of doors. He had 
never been a very strong little boy, and his mamma. 
was compelled to keep him in many days when he? 
could not understand the reason ; and he was not very 
patient on such days, and sometimes made all wha 
loved him sorry, because he would not be consoled by 
any means in their power — he wanted to be out of 
doors, and nothing else would do. 

Now, Willie's mamma was not at all well or strong;, 
and when she heard her little boy worry so it worried 
her, and made her head ache worse. Aunt Susie, wha 
loved Willie almost as much as though he were her 
own little boy, thought of a way to make Willie see 
how unhappy he made everybody in the house when 
he would not accept his mother's decisions as best. 

One bright, sunshiny day in April Willie was out 
of doors, running and playing with his dog. He was- 
perfectly happy, and had been so sweet and lovable 



218 CONTENTMENT. 

all the morning that Aunt Susie thought, " This is 
just the (lay to show Willie the difference between 
having a bright, sunshiny boy about the house, and a 
tearful, fretful one/' The spare-room shutters were 
closed ; and the room would have been very dark and 
dreary if one stray sunbeam had not found its way 
through the shutters, making a bar of gold across the 
floor and a dancing spirit of gold on the wall. Aunt 
Susie found the place in the shutter through which 
the sunbeam came, and covered it up, making the 
room perfectly dark ; and then she called Willie in, 
and took him upstairs into the room. After they were 
seated, she asked Willie: "How do you like this 
room, Willie?" 

" I don't like it at all, Aunt Susie ; it's all dark." 
" Then you would not like to stay here ? " 
" No, no. Aunt Susie, I want to go out of doors." 
Aunt Susie went to the window, and took away the 
towel fastened over the crack in the shutters, and in 
<lanced the lovely sunbeam. 

" Oh, oh ! " said Willie, " how pretty ! " and he ran 
and stood on the carpet where the sunbeam lay. 
Then he knelt down and held his hands in it. Aunt 
Susie went to him, sat on the floor, and took Willie 
in her lap. Then, very sweetly and lovingly, she 
said: " Willie, this room is just like mamma's life ; 
and you are her sunbeam. When you worry and are 
cross, her life is like this room without the sunbeam." 
Willie's big blue eyes grew large and sorrowful, 
and the tears gathered in them ; and then, with a lit- 
tle sob, he put his head on Aunt Susie's shoulder, and 



CONTENTMENT. 219 

said, ^^I'll ^member, Auntie Susie, I'll ^member." 
Aunt Susie took him by the hand, and soon they were 
playing out of doors again, as happy as ever. 

Two weeks had passed, and all in the house were 
impressed with the great change in Willie, He had 
controlled himself whenever he was deprived of a 
pleasure it was not best he should have, and imme- 
diately interested himself in v/hatever substitute was 
offered. Two or three rainy days had followed each 
other, and still Willie had been a delight and comfort 
to all in the house. One day, when everybody had 
grown tired of the wind and rain, Willie came quietly 
into Aunt Susie's room, and stood by the window 
for some time. Crossing the room to Aunt Susie, he 
whispered, '^ Auntie Susie, has n't I been mamma's 
sunbeam since you told me ? " Aunt Susie took him 
in her arms, and kissed him again and again : '^ You 
have, W^illie darling. You have been a sunbeam for 
us all." With a contented little sigh, Willie nestled 
in her arms, and said, '^ I'se tired. Aunt Susie — -I'se 
tired." And for years after a frown on Willie's face 
would disappear, or the cross tone from his voice, 
when he heard the question, " Where is mamma's sun- 
beam ? " — Christian Register. 



The highest point outward things can bring unto 
is the contentment of the mind ; with which no estate 
can be poor, without which all estates will be miser- 
able. — Sir Pliilip Sidney. 



220 OBEDIENCE. 



CHAPTER XII. 

OBEDIENCE. 

OBEYING ORDERS. 

An English farmer was one day at work in the 
fields, when he saw a party of huntsmen riding about 
his farm. He had one field which he was especially 
anxious they should not ride over, as the horses^ hoofs 
would greatly injure the crop. So he sent one of his 
boys, and told him to shut the gate, and keep watch 
there, and on no account to let any one go through it. 

The boy went, and had scarcely taken his post there 
before the huntsmen came up, and ordered him to 
open the gate. He declined to do so, telling them 
what his orders were, and that he meant to obey them. 
They threatened him, but he did not mind their 
threats. They offered him money, but he refused to 
receive it. At last, one of them came up to him, and 
said, in commanding tones : 

^' My boy, you do not know me ; but I am the 
Duke of Wellington. I am not accustomed to be 
disobeyed ; and, now, I command you to open the 
gate, that I and my friends may pass through.^' 

The boy lifted his cap, and stood uncovered before 
the man whom all England delighted to honor, and 
then answered firmly : 

^^ I am sure that the Duke of Wellington would 
not wish me to disobey orders. I must keep the gate 



OBEDIENCE. 221 

shut ; no one can pass through it but by my master's 
express permission." 

The brave old warrior was greatly pleased with this. 
Then he took oif his* own hat, and said : " I honor 
the man or the boy who can neither be bribed nor 
frightened into disobeying orders. With an army of 
such soldiers, I could conquer, not the French only, 
but the world." Then, handing the boy a sovereign, 
he put spurs to his horse and galloped away. 

The boy went back to his work, shouting out, as he 
did so : ^^ Hurrah I hurrah ! V\e done what Napoleon 
couldn't do — I have kept out the Duke of Welling- 
ton." — Bible Models. 



THE STRENGTH OF THE CHAIN IS IN ITS WEAK- 
EST LINK. 

A dog was barking furiously at a stranger and 
making frightful tugs upon the chain which enabled 
the visitor to elude him. 

" No danger, honey," said the old negro at work in 
the inclosure. ^^ Dat chain's a very strong bit of iron." 

The visitor trusted him, the chain yielded ; there 
was a fearful experience for a few minutes. When at 
length order was restored, an investigation showed 
that there was one weak link. 

'' No matter how strong might have been the rest 
of the chain, its real power lay in that one link," said 
the visitor, who had been so startled. ^^And we all 
know that a chain can be no stronger than its weakest 
link." 



222 OBEDIENCE. 

Let our readers take this thought and apply it to 
the chains they may be forming. Here is one boy 
who has determined to be an obedient scholar in 
future. " I will/^ says he, " obey every rule the 
teacher requires, except one. He has utterly forbid- 
den the use of translations in the school. Now, I can 
not see how I can do without these helps. I will obey 
in all other matters.^^ 

Look at the weak link in your chain of obedience, 
and remember its power decides the strength of the 
chain. 

" I have fully resolved,^' says another, " to obey my 
father, except in that one prohibition about the ice.'' 

Another weak link ! 



No principle is more noble, as there is none more 
holy, than that of true obedience. — Henry Giles, 



He praiseth God best that serveth and obeyeth Him 
most; the life of thankfulness consists in the thank- 
fulness of the life. — W. Burkitt. 



Life is made up, not of great sacrifices or duties, 
but of little things, in which smiles and kindnesses 
and small obligations, given habitually, are what win 
and preserve the heart and secure comfort. — Sir 
Humphrey Davy, 



ANIMALS. 223' 



CHAPTEE XIII. 

ANIMALS. 

A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast. — Prov. xii, 10. 
But ask nmv the beasts, and they shall tell thee ; and the fowls of the. 
air, and they shall tell thee. — Job xii, 7. 

The duty of kindness to animals should be thor- 
oughly impressed upon the pupils of every school in 
the land. It is believed that there is no better way 
to do this than to present to the pupils the noble deeds 
of animals in true stories. 



If children at school can be made to understand 
hoAv it is just and noble to be humane even to what 
we term inferior animals, it will do much to give them 
a higher character and tone through life. There m 
nothing meaner than barbarous and cruel treatment of 
the dumb creatures who can not answer or resent the 
misery which is so often needlessly inflicted upon 
them. — John Bright. 



If you do not realize the state of the ant under 
your foot, know that it resembles your condition under 
the foot of an elephant. — Persian, 



^24 ANIMALS. 



NEPTUNE TO THE RESCUE. 

An exchange tells the following story of a dog's 
first visit to the theater : The owner of the dog told 
me the story, and I deem it well worth repeating. 
The animal was a pure Newfoundland, and brought 
up to care for his master and his master's family ; but, 
like his noble species, it was his wont to care for 
everything that really needed and deserved his care. 

One evening the gentleman went to the theater, 
sitting in a private box, and taking his favorite dog 
with him. In the course of the drama, which verged 
slightly upon the sensational, the stage became the 
scene of a fierce struggle between a mother and two 
ruffians for the possession of a little child. One of 
the ruffians had grasped the woman's shoulders from 
behind, and the other was about to tear the child from 
her frantic grasp, when a new and unexpected actor 
appeared upon the scene. 

Good Neptune, from his master's box, had seen 
about all that kind of work that he cared to see, and 
had evidently only been waiting for good men, where 
there appeared so many, to hasten to the rescue ; but, 
when he saw the ruffian's hands upon the child, he 
cleared the railing of the box at a bound, and lighted 
on the stage, and, at the first onset, he fairly knocked 
one of the ruffians over, thus setting free the child. 
His next attention was bestowed upon ruffian number 
two, whom he was dragging down upon the stage, 
when the scene-shifters and property men came to the 
rescue. But not until the owner of the dog had come 



ANIMALS. 225 

upon the stage, and the two ruffians had left the 
mother and child in peace, could the noble animal be 
subdued. 

The gentleman of the box tried to explain to the 
audience, but there was no need. They understood 
fully ; and the noble Newfoundland received round 
after round of applause, uproarious and hearty.— 
Christian Register, 



AMONG THE NOBLEST. 

*' Yes, well your story pleads the cause 

Of those dumb mouths that have no speech, 

Only a cry from each to each 

In its own kind, with its own laws ; 

Something that is beyond the reach 

Of human power to learn or teach— 

An inarticulate moan of pain, 

Like the immeasurable main 

Breaking upon an unknown beach." 

Thus spake the poet, with a sigh ; 
Then added, with impassioned cry, 
As one who feels the words he speaks. 
The color flushing in his cheeks, 
The fervor burning in his eye : 
^' Among the noblest in the land. 
Though he may count himself the least. 
That man I honor and revere 
Who, without favor, without fear. 
In the great city dares to stand 
The friend of every friendless beast. 
And tames with his unflinching hand 
The brutes that wear our form and face. 
The were-wolves of the human race!" 

— Tales of a Wayside Inn. 

15 



226 ANIMALS. 

THE LITTLE GRAY MISSIONAKIES. 

Capitol Square^ in Richmond, Va., is a beautiful 
little park of about sixteen acres, intersected with 
winding walks and shaded by noble oaks and other 
trees. It is adorned with fine statuary ; and near the 
center stands the State Capitol, which was also the 
Capitol of the Southern Confederacy. But the place, 
replete as it is in historic attractions, possesses no 
feature more interesting to the lover of animated 
nature than the gray squirrels with which it abounds. 
There are troops of them, and all as tame as kittens. 
They are a little shy of strangers, but quickly learn 
to recognize any one who treats them kindly. Let 
such a one sit down in one of the rustic seats with 
which the park is furnished, holding out a nut in his 
hand, and soon a little gray squirrel will be seen run- 
ning down a tree and bounding over the grass toward 
him. The little creature will then sit straight up, 
scanning the visitor with a keen and knowing eye. 
Having assured itself of his friendly intentions, it 
springs upon the bench or runs up by way of his foot, 
and takes the proffered nut from his hand. Soon it 
will be joined by others ; and one may find one sitting 
on his knee, another on his shoulder, a third on the 
back of the seat, and others all around him, all nib- 
bling away at the nuts he continues to furnish them. 
One pair of squirrels have wandered away from the 
park and established their home in the hollow of a 
huge mulberry tree directly in front of a grocery. 
Whenever meal-time comes, and it comes pretty often, 



ANIMALS. 227 

the mother squirrel runs down the tree, enters the 
grocery, and helps herself to a nut from the stock of 
the kind-hearted grocer, who always makes her wel- 
come to all she \vants. 

Now, these squirrels are all missionaries of mercy. 
They not only amuse every one who sees their cun- 
ning and intelligent antics, but they also awaken in 
the heart of every child in Richmond a feeling of 
tender interest in all God's harmless creatures. The 
child from whose hand they fearlessly take their food 
is learning lessons w^iich will make a better man or 
woman. It would be well if some of our Chicago 
parks could be peopled with squirrels — not confined 
in wired inclosures, but running free and making 
friends with the troops of children who would delight 
in treating them with kindness. — Humane Journal, 



THE DEAD BIRD. 

We found him in his gilded cage 
With drooping head and folded wing — 
The little bird that ne'er again 
To us his merry songs will sing 
To cheer us on dark winter days 
Or greet us 'mid the bloom of spring. 

Dear little bird ! With loving touch, 

We held him fondly in our hand, 

And wondered if he had not found 

A paradise beyond our land, 

Where he would flit from tree to tree, 

'Mid brighter scenes and airs more bland. 



228 ANIMALS. 

We thouglit how oft of prison bars 
This little bird had seemed to tire, 
To reach the sunny skies beyond 
Had often felt a vain desire, 
Yet ever as he tried to soar 
He beat his wings against the wire. 

» How often, like the little bird, 

We long to rise and fly away, 
For wings to soar above the cares 
That ever seem to bar our way, 
The while almost within our reach 
We see the fair, unclouded day ! 

But yet, unlike the little bird, 
We do not sing through all the year, 
Whether the air is full of bloom 
Or winter's skies are cold and drear, 
Nor always have a loving tone 
The weary and the sad to cheer. 

And if a loving Father bends 
To mark a little sparrow fall. 
We half believe that there must be 
A sunny paradise where all 
These happy birds may sing, or flit 
From bower to bower with loving call. 
, — Christian Register. 



CARLO. 

How well we all remember Carlo ! He was a dear 
old dog, and belonged to Mr. Rhodes, the constable 
of our town. 

Carlo always made a point of attending all the fires 
in the town. He could mount a ladder like a fire- 
man, and well do I recollect the last of his adventures. 

It was toward evening on a holiday, and a few peo- 



ANIMALS. 229 

pie were in the place, as most of the citizens of the 
town were absent on a popular excursion. 

I remember feeling sadly disappointed at having to 
miss the excursion myself. At about five o^clock the 
bells in the church began to ring very loud and fast ; 
and Carlo, who had been lazily sleeping and watching 
the place, started up and, with two or three expressive 
growls that summoned his master, ran with all speed 
for the fire. 

The dog was very busy and intelligent all the time, 
dragging down the stairs with great speed and care 
things of every description. 

As the last house was burning, the cry of a child 
was heard in the upper story. 

Of course, it was out of the question for any one 
to go up and expect to come back ; but Carlo seemed 
to take in the situation at a glance. Knowing in his 
dog mind that the first stories were already in a blaze, 
he leaped up the ladder, and jumped in through the 
v/indow. The fire and smoke soon drove him back, 
but his master, who appeared at that moment, shouted 
to him to go in, and the people cheered. Whether 
he understood or not, he again entered the window ; 
and when all hope of his return had been given up, a 
loud shout announced his arrival. He was terribly 
burned before he reached the ground, still holding, 
with wonderful firmness, a little babe. 

The child did not prove to be greatly harmed, but 
poor Carlo's injuries were fatal. The brave dog re- 
ceived every care, but he died the next day. — Effie 
SquieVy in St. Nicholas. 



230 ANIMALS. 

A TRUE CAT STORY. 

A lady in Manchester, N. H., owned a cat and a 
canary. Entering her sitting-room one afternoon, the 
cat ran to her, put its paws upon her dress, and mewed 
loudly. What the animal — usually very quiet — meant 
by such demonstrations, she did not understand. Pres- 
ently, noticing that the bird — a great singer — was 
silent, she looked up to the cage, to find its door open, 
its former tenant gone. 

^' Kitty, have you killed Dick ? ^' she asked, in an 
angry tone. 

Again puss j)ut its paws on her dress and mewed, 
at the same time glancing at the top of the window. 
The upper sash had been lowered, for ventilation, and 
it at once flashed through the lady's mind that the 
opening thus made had furnished the canary's means 
of escape. 

Soon the cat manifested a desire to leave the room, 
and was let out. Nothing \yas seen of it for three 
days, when it returned, bearing in its mouth the fugi- 
tive bird, which it laid at its mistress's feet unhurt. — 
Youth'' s Companion. 

A GALLANT THRUSH. 

A young Highlander, having set a horse-hair noose 
in the v/oods, was deligiited one morning to find a 
female song-thrush entangled therein. He carried 
home his prize, put it in a roomy, open-braided bas- 
ket, secured the lid with much string and many knots, 
and then hung the extemporized cage upon a nail near 



ANIMALS. 231 

the open window. In the afternoon the parish min- 
ister was called in by the boy's mother, who wished 
him to persuade her son to set the captive free. While 
the clergyman was examining the bird through the 
basket^ his attention was called to another thrush 
perched on a branch opposite the window. 

^' Yes ! '' exclaimed the boy ; " and it followed me 
home all the way from the woods." 

It was the captive's mate, w^iich, having faithfully 
followed his partner to her prison, had perched him- 
self where he might see her, and she hear the sad, 
broken notes that chirped his grief. 

The clergyman hung the basket against the eave of 
the cottage, and then the two retired to watch what 
might happen. In a few minutes, the captive whis- 
pered a chirp to her mate's complaints. His joy was 
unbounded. Springing to the topmost spray of the 
tree, he trilled out two or three exultant notes, and 
then alighted on the basket-lid, through the hole in 
which the captive had thrust her head and neck. 
Then followed a touching scene. The male bird, 
after billing and cooing with the captive, dressing her 
feathers and stroking her neck, all the while flutter- 
ing his wings and crooning an under-song of encour- 
agement, suddenly assumed another attitude. Gath- 
ering up his wings, he erected himself, and began to 
peck and pull away at the edges of the hole in the 
basket's lid. The bird's ardent affectiou, and his 
effort to release his mate, touched clergyman, mother, 
and boy. 

^^ I'll let the bird go ! " said he, in a sympathetic 



232 ANIMALS. 

voice, as he saw his mother wiping her eyes with her 
apron. 

The basket was carried to the spot where the bird 
had been snared. The cock-thrush followed, sweep- 
ing occasionally close past the boy carrying the basket, 
and chirping abrupt notes, as if assuring his mate that 
he was still near her. On arriving at the snare, the 
clergyman began untying the many intricate knots 
which secured the lid, while the cock-bird, perched on 
a hazel bough not six feet away, watched, silently and 
motionless, the process of liberation. As soon as the 
basket-lid was raised, the female thrush dashed out, 
with a scream of terror and joy ; while the male fol- 
lowed like an arrow shot from a bow, and both dis- 
appeared behind a clump of birch-trees. It was an 
excellent lesson for the boy — one which he never for- 
got. — United Presbyterian, 



SAVED BY AN ORANG-OUTANG. 

A nobleman had a favorite monkey, a large orang- 
.outang, which you know is the largest species of mon- 
key except the gorilla. This monkey was very much 
attached to his master and to the baby boy, who was 
the pet of the whole family. One day, suddenly, a 
fire broke out in the house, and everybody was run- 
ning here and there to put it out, while the little boy 
in his nursery was almost forgotten ; and when they 
thought of him the staircase was all in flames. What 
could be done? As they were looking up and won- 



ANIMALS. 233^ 

deriDg a large, hairy hand and arm opened the win- 
dow, and presently the monkey appeared with the 
baby in his arms, and carefully climbed down over 
the porch, and brought the child safely to his nurse. 
JSTobody else could have done it ; for a man can not 
climb like a monkey, and is not nearly so strong. 
You may imagine how the faithful creature was 
praised and petted after that. 

This is a true story, and the child who was saved 
was the young Marquis of Kildare. — Children'^ 
Treasury, 



THE SPARROW. 

I returned home from the chase, and wandered 
through an alley in my garden. My dog bounded 
before me. Suddenly he checked himself, and moved 
forward cautiously, as if he scented game. I glanced 
down the alley, and perceived a young sparrow with 
a yellow beak and down upon its head. He had fallen, 
out of the nest (the wind was shaking the beeches in 
the alley violently), and lay motionless and helpless 
on the ground, with his little unfledged wings ex- 
tended. 

The dog approached it softly, when suddenly an old 
sparrow, with a black breast, quitted a neighboring 
tree, dropped like a stone right before the dog's nose, 
and, with ruffled plumage and chirping desperately 
and pitifully, sprang twice at the open, grinning mouth. 
He had come to protect his little one at the cost of 
his own life. His little body trembled all over, his- 



*234 ANIMALS. 

voice was hoarse, he was in an agony — he offered 
himself. 

The dog must have seemed a gigantic monster to 
him. But, in spite of that, he had not remained safe 
on his lofty bough. A power stronger than his own 
will had forced him down. The dog stood still, and 
turned av/ay. It seemed as though he also felt this 
power. I hastened to call him back, and went away 
with a feeling of respect. Yes ; smile not ! I felt a 
respect for this heroic little bird and for the depth of 
his paternal love. 

Love, I reflected, is stronger than death and the 
fear of death ; it is love alone that supports and ani- 
mates all. — Tourgenieff. 



KINDNESS TO ANIMALS, 

Turn, turn the hasty foot aside, 

Nor crush the helpless worm ; 
The frame thy wayward looks deride 

Required a God to form. 

The common Lord of all that move, 

From whom thy being flowed, 
A portion of His boundless love 

On that poor worm bestowed. 

The sun, the moon, the stars, He made 

To all PTis creatures free ; 
And spreads o'er earth the grassy blade 

For worms as well as thee. 

Let them enjoy their day. 

Their lowly bliss receive ; 
Oh ! do not lightly take away 

The life thou canst not give. — Gisborne. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 235 



CHAPTER XIV. 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

HABIT. 

There was once a horse that used to pull around a 
sweep which lifted dirt from the depths of the earth. 
He was kept at the business for nearly twenty years, 
until he became old, blind and too stiff in the joints 
for further use. So he was turned into a pasture, or 
left to crop the grass without any one to disturb or 
bother him. But the funny thing about the old horse 
was that every morning after grazing awhile he would 
start on a tramp, going round and round in a circle, 
just as he had been accustomed to do for so many 
years. He would keep it up for hours, and people 
often stopped to look and wonder what had got into 
the head of the venerable animal to make him walk 
around in such a solemn way when there was no 
earthly need of it. But it was the force of habit. And 
the boy who forms bad or good habits in his youth will 
be led by them when he becomes old, and will be 
miserable or happy accordingly. — Th^ Evangelist. 



Habit is a cable; we weave a thread of it each 
day, and at last we can not break it. — Horace Mann. 

We can only break it as we made it — by breaking a 
thread each day. 



236 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



START TRUE. 

" Now start me true," cried Fred, 

To his mates on tlie hill one day, 
As he sped on his bright new sled 

From the snowy crest away. 
The hill was long and steep, 

While a narrov/, shining track 
Climbed up through the snowy deep 

To the top of " Camel's Back." 

Near by, on the mountain-side, 

The tallest pine-trees grow ; 
While a dark and angry tide 

Dashes over rocks below. 
But Fred, with a steady care, 

Knows well where the dangers lay; 
No rock, or a hidden snare, 

Shall turn him out of his way. 

How swiftly now does he glide ! 

Past gully and stump and curve, 
And nothing can turn him aside— 

Not once from the way does he swerve. 
"Hurrah ! " he cries, "I am there," 

Till the rocks catch up the refrain. 
And he waves his cap in the air 

As he touches the snowy plain. 

And so, in the journey of life, 

Start tnie, my dear boys, and pray ; 
Avoiding intemperance and strife. 

And the evils that lie in the way. 
May you thus, when eternity's light 

Flashes up on your course at the last. 
Break forth into songs of delight 

O'er dangers triumphantly passed. 

—Mrs. IL a Blakeslee. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 237 



FIVE CENTS A DAY. 

The cumulative power of money is a fact very gen- 
erally appreciated. There are few men living at the 
age of seventy-five^ hanging on to existence l)y some 
slender employment, or pensioners, it may be, on the 
bounty of kindred or friends, but might by exercis- 
ing the smallest particle of thrift, rigidly adhered to 
in the past, have set aside a respectable sum which 
would materially help them to maintain their inde- 
pendence in their old age. Let us take the small sum 
of five cents which we daily pay to have our boots 
blackened, to ride in a car the distance we are able to 
walk, or to procure a bad cigar we are better without, 
and see what its value is in the course of years. 

We will suppose a boy of fifteen by blacking his 
own boots, or saving his cherished cigarette, puts by 
five cents a day. In one year he saves $18.35, which, 
being banked, bears interest at the rate of five per 
cent, per annum, compounded semi-yearly. On this 
basis, when our thrifty youth reaches the age of sixty- 
five, having set his five cents per day religiously aside 
during fifty years, the result is surprising. He has 
accumulated no loss a sum than $3,983.18. A scrutiny 
of the progress of this result is interesting. At the 
age of thirty our hero has $395 ; at forty, $877 ; at 
fifty, $1,667; at sixty, $2,962. After fifteen years' 
saving his annual interest more than equals his original 
principal ; in twenty-five years it is more than double ; 
in thirty-five years it is four times as much ; in forty- 
five years it is eight times as much as the annual 



238 MISCELLANEOUS. 

amount he puts by. The actual cash amount saved 
in fifty years is $912.50, the difference between that 
and the grand total of $3,893.18— namely, $2,970.68— 
is accumulated interest. What a magnificent pre- 
mium for the minimum of thrift that can be well 
represented in figures ! — Anon, 



DO YOUR BEST. 

Little Johnnie sat near the open window in church. 
The day was sultry. The minister used long words. 
Johnnie was drowsy. He looked from the window at 
the waving grass, which seemed to beckon him out- 
How he wished he could go! 

Just then the minister's words were, "We must 
earnestly strive to do our best: then, when the end 
comes, our spirits v/ill take their flight to heaven.^' 
Johnnie heard, and drowsily wondered if birds and 
flowers had to strive to do their best, and if they had 
spirits to fly upward when their lives were done. In 
a moment more the little fellow was sound asleep, and 
dreaming that he was out in the fields with the birds 
and flowers. They seemed to be having a service of 
their own. The birds sang sweetly together. Then 
a venerable dandelion, whose once golden head was 
now white as snow, said: "My work is done, my 
short life is nearly ended ; but my heart is light. I 
long to fly upward, for I have done what I could to 
beautify God's earth. My parting Avords to all are : 
Earnestly strive to do your best, and you will be 
ready for any change." 



* MISCELLANEOUS. 23^ 

Here all the flowers and grass nodded ; while the 
birds sang loudly in concert, ^' Do your best, do your 
best.'' 

In the midst of the music Johnnie awoke from his 
short nap. The solemn strains of the organ filled the 
church. 

As Johnnie again looked from the window at the 
waving grass and flowers, he saw a downy white dan- 
delion-top rise silently from its stem, and soar far, far 
up in the air, until fiually lost to view. 

Poor Johnnie was puzzled. The sermon, the dream 
and the dandelion-top were so mixed up in his little 
head that he could not study it all out. He could not 
help thinking that it was the snowy ball as it rose in 
the air, and not the good minister, who had said, " Do 
your best; and, when the end comes, your spirit will 
take its flight to heaven.'' 

In all after years he was never able to tell just 
how much was dream and how much reality ; but he 
has never forgotten that quiet Sabbath morning, nor 
the resolution then formed always to " do his best." — 
Christian Register. 

BUILD WELL. 

High on the granite wall the builders, toiling, 
Heaved up the massive blocks and slabs to place, 

With swart and streaming brows and straining sinews, 
Under the summer's blaze. 

And higher yet, amid the chills of autumn, 

Tier upon tier and arch on arch arose; 
And still crept upward, coldly, wearily, 

'Mid winter's sifting snows. 



240 MISCELLAXEOUS. 

From stage to stage upsprings the master builder, 
Instructing, cheering, chiding here and there ; 

Scanning with scrutiny severe and rigid 
Each lusty laborer's share. 

Anon his voice to those most distant shouting, 

Through the hoarse trumpet makes his orders swell; 

Or utters words like these to rouse and hearten : 
"Build well, my men, build well! 

"^^ The ropes are strong, and new and sound the pulleys ; 
The derrick's beams are equal to the strain ; 
Unerring are the level, line and plummet ; 
Let naught be done in vain ! 

"Build that these walls to coming generations 

Your skill, your strength, your faithfulness, shall tell, 
That all may say, as storms and centuries test them : 
' The men of old built well ! ' " 

And ever thus speaks the great Master Builder 
To us, where'er our "journey work" may be: 
*' Whate'er the toil, the season or the structure. 

Build well— build worthily ! " —H. S. Brotvi\ 



'Tis slander, whose breath 
Hides on the posting loinds, and doth belie 
All corners of the world. — Shakespeare. 

SLANDER. 

A. lady visited Sir Philip Neri on one occasion, 
accusing herself of being a slanderer. ^^ Do you fre- 
quently fall into this fault ?^' he inquired. 

" Yes, very often,'^ replied the penitent. 

"My dear child," said Philip, "your fault is great, 
but the mercy of God is greater. I now bid thee do 
as follows : Go to the nearest market and purchase a 



MISCELLANEOUS. 241 

chicken just killed and still covered with feathers. 
Then walk to a certain distance, plucking the bird as 
you go. Your walk finished, return to me.'' 

The woman did as directed and returned, anxious to 
know the meaning of so singular an injunction. 

^' You have been very faithful to the first part of 
my orders/' said Philip. " Now do the second part, 
and you will be cured: Retrace your steps, pass 
through all the places you have traversed, and gather 
up one by one all the feathers you have scattered." 

" But/' said the woman,, ^' I cast the feathers care- 
lessly away, and the wind carried them in all direc- 
tions." 

" Well, my child," replied Philip, " so it is with 
your words of slander. Like the feathers which the 
wind has scattered, they have been wafted in many 
directions. Call them back now, if you can. Go, 
sin no more." — The Quiver. 



WERE I YOU, LITTLE LAD. 

Now, my gay little lad, trolling out your blithe air, 

With the dew all unswept from your day, 
Do you know what it is I would do, were I you. 

With the years stretching out o'er my way ? 
Do you wonder, my lad, with your eyes' yet so clear 

That they rival the heaven's clear blue. 
And your chin all unpricked by the pressure of years, 

What it is that I think I would do? 

It is this : I would try, did I know that I stood 

The first heir to a wondrous estate — 
The estate of true manhood — to keep myself pure 

For the years that I knew were in wait. 

16 



242 MISCELLANEOUS. 

I "would watch tliat no cloud, e'en the size of a hand, 
Rose to dim the bright gleam of my noon — 

Yes, on guard I would stand even now, were I you; 
You will find it not one day too soon. 

Were I you, little lad, I would see that each day 

Was swept clean ere 'twas folded away ; 
Aye, so clean that at night I could say with all truth ; 

" 'Tis a bit of good work done to-day." 
Do you know why of some, when death closes their door, 

It is said as our tears wet the clay. 
And the grave is filled in with a nation's remorse, 

"'Tis a great man that's fallen to-day?" 

I will tell you, my lad; 'tis because of the years 

That stream back of them, golden and bright ; 
Not a blur for the mantle of friendship to shroud, 

But from boyhood to manhood all light. 
Oh ! a record like this is worth more, little lad, 

Than the gold of a mountain when won, 
But a record, you'll find, that can never be gained 

Save by watching the days as they run. 

— Belle Kellogg Tovme. 



Let another man praise thee, and not thine oivn mouth. — Prov. 
xxvii, 2. 

SELF-PRAISE. 

A man once walked along the banks of the mighty 
Euphrates River. Its waters moved softly and 
silently along. *^ Why do not thy waters surge and 
roar?'' asked the man. And the river replied : ^' I 
need not shout aloud; my name is known widely 
enough. The green meadows which I water and the 
lofty trees upon my banks— these tell who I am.'' 

The man came afterward to the banks of the Tigris 
River. Its waves dashed along wildly and with 



MISCELLANEOUS. 243 

clouds of foam. " Hallo, how loud you are shout- 
ing ! " said the man. "Ah/' said the river, " my 
shouting does not help me at all ! I still am not 
praised like other streams, however loudly I proclaim 
that I am something in the world.'' 

The man went further. He saw trees with the^^ 
costliest and most beautiful fruit. They offered their 
fruits without a sound. "Why so still, good trees?"' 
he asked. " AVhy not rustle like your companions in. 
the wood ?" " We are known/' they replied, " by the 
fruit we bear, however silent we are." Soon the man 
came to a wood whose trees towered to the skies, and 
whose empty crests kept up a constant roar. " Why 
do you make such a noise?" he asked. "Ah," they 
replied, " we have shouted loud and long, and yet we; 
are not treated as we deserve." 

" Now I know," said the man, " who pra'ses him- 
self amounts to nothing. The truly meritorious re- 
quire no self-praise. That truth I will not forget." — 
Jewish Messenger. 

GROWN-UP LAND. 

" Good morrow, fair maid, with lashes brown, 
Can you tell me the way to Womanhood Town?"' 

" Oh, this way and that way, never a stop, 
'Tis picking up stitches grandma will drop, 
'Tis kissing the baby's troubles away, 
'Tis learning that cross words never will pay, 
'Tis helping mother, 'tis sewing up rents, 
'Tis reading and playing, 'tis saving the cents,. 
'Tis loving and smiling, forgetting to frown, 
Oh, tiiat is the way to Womanhood Town ! " 



244 MISCELLANEOUS. 

"Just wait, my brave lad, one moment, I pray. 
Manhood Town lies where? Can you tell the way?" 

" Oh, by toiling and trying we reach that land — 
A bit with the head, a bit with the hand ! 
'Tis by climbing up the steep hill Work, 
'Tis by keeping out of the wide street Shirk, 
! 'Tis by always taking the weak one's part, 

'Tis by giving the mother a happy heart, 
'Tis by keeping bad thoughts and actions down, 
Oh, that is the way to Manhood Town ! " 

And the lad and the maid ran hand in hand 
To their fair estates in Grown-up Land. 

— City and Country. 



" My soiif if sinner's entice thee, consent thou not." — Prov. i, 10. 
THE FORCE OF EXAMPLE. 

A little boy in ray parish, only six years of age, 
was sent by his mother to fetch his father home from 
a public house. He found his parent drinking with 
some other men. One of them invited the little fel- 
low to take some beer. Firmly and at once, the boy 
replied : 

" No, I can't take that. Fm in the Band of Hope.'' 

The men looked at one another, but no one was 
found to repeat the temptation. The man then said: 

" Well, if you won't take the beer, here's a penny 
for you to buy some candy." 

The boy took the penny, and said : " I thank you, 
but I had rather not buy candy. I shall put it into 
the savings bank." 

The men looked at one another, and for some mo- 



MISCELLANEOUS. 245 

ments were silent. At lengthy one of them rose, and 
gave utterance to his feelings in these words : 

" Well, I think the sooner we sign the pledge and put 
our savings in the bank, the better.^' — Golden Censer. 



HARVEY IN TROUBLE. 

Emily Harper went through the hall singing : 

^' ^And for bonnie Annie Laurie IM lay me down 
and — ' What on earth is the matter?" She did not 
sing that last, but said it in a wondering and dismayed 
tone, as she 'suddenly opened the library door, and 
found her brother Harvey lying flat on his face, in a 
perfect storm of tears. 

Harvey crying was something new under the sun ; 
he hardly ever stopped whistling long enough to cry. 

He wasn^t very gracious to Emily. " Keep away,'' 
he said, poking out his elbows as though he meant to 
push her off; but she wasn't easily pushed off; she 
shut the library door, and went down on her knees 
beside the heap on the floor, and said, in the most 
coaxing of sisterly tones, " Tell me all about it, Har- 
vey.'' 

And Harvey told ; he couldn't help it. It was bad 
enough. At twenty minutes of three he had started, 
a merry, whistling boy, for the post-office, to mail a 
letter for his father — an important letter ; his father 
had called after him that if it failed to reach that mail, 
there would be more than a hundred dollars' loss. 
^' And he said he would trust me," sobbed poor Harvey. 
Well, he knew the mail did not close until fifteen 



246 MISCELLANEOUS. 

minutes after three, and he knew he could reach the 
office in five minutes; so he laughed at the idea of 
failing, and told his father it should be there sure. 
But going around the square, he met Joe Bailey, who 
told him that their folks had brought home a parrot 
with them from the city ; the cutest fellow, who could 
whistle and sing, and say, " Hush up ! '^ and do ever 
so many funny things, and he had gone down the left 
-side of the square instead of the right, because he 
Jsnew it would make no difference in the time, and 
}iad stopped just about two minutes to look at the 
parrot. 

''And missed the mail ! '^ exclaimed Emily, in a hor- 
rified tone. 

"No, I didn^t miss the mail, either," said poor 
Harvey, very crossly ; he felt so bad, he thought he 
couldn't help being cross. " Keep still, can't you ? 
/'m telling this story ; I didn't forget about the letter 
at all. I didn't stay three minutes ; but there came 
a big wind along, and blew off my hat, and I had to 
climb the picket fence to get it, and then I made for 
the post-office as fast as I could ; and when I got there 
the letter was gone." Then he told how he went 
back, and searched all the way, and searched the yard 
at Bailey's, and Joe searched, and the parrot searched, 
or seemed to, but no letter could be found.' 

" What did father say ? " Emily asked, after a mo- 
ment of dismayed silence. 

" That is the worst of it," Harvey said, sitting up 
with dry eyes, feeling too miserable to shed any more 
tears. " I haven't told him a word about it ; I don't 



MISCELLANEOUS. 247 

see any use in telling ; the letter is gone, and he can^t 
find it, for I looked everywhere; and the mail is gone, 
he can't send another, and I might just as well keep 
still, and not trouble him, to-night at least." 

Then Emily found her usual busy tongue. " Oh, 
Harvey, that won't do at all ; maybe he could write 
another by that very early mail in the morning that 
would help some ; or he might telegraph, or send 
somebody on the train ; men know how to do ever so 
many things. You ought to tell father right away. 
He could do something, I^m sure ; and you've got to 
tell him some time ; I should think you would want 
it over." 

One word in this sentence carried weight with it. 
Harvey rose up, his face pale ; " I forgot all about the 
telegraph," he said ; " I must tell him right av/ay." 
Now, some people might suppose Mr. Harper was a 
very fierce man, since his son so dreaded to tell him 
of the accident; but the truth was, if there had been 
nothing but a whipping to dread, Harvey would not 
have wasted so much time nor so many tears. His 
father was the kindest, most patient of men, and Har- 
vey 60 loved and respected him that to bring trouble, 
by his carelessness, on that good father was something 
that he could hardly bear to think of. Besides, they 
were not rich, and a hundred dollars was a good deal 
of money for them to lose. 

Mr. Harper had come home from the office, and was 
in his room, a grave-faced father ; he listened quietly 
and sadly to Harvey's eager story, but before it was 
half through he put an arm tenderly around the boy, 



248 MISCELLANEOUS. 

and when it was finished leaned over and kissed him. 
" Thank you, my son/^ he said. " I was feeling very 
sad over it all; I thought you were going to try to 
deceive your father by saying nothing to him about it.^' 

^' Why, father ! " said Harvey in great astonishment, 
"did you know anything about it?" 

Then the father told his story, how one of the clerks 
from the office, passing down the south side of the 
square, a few minutes before mail time, saw a letter 
lying in the grass near Mr. Bailey^s house, and, picking 
it up, he recognized it as the one that was of great 
importance, so, without loss of time, hastened to 
post it. 

"And I saw him coming out of the post-office just 
as I was walking back there the second time, when I 
couldn't find the letter ! " exclaimed Harvey. " If I 
had only told him." Then, after a moment of silence, 
he added one more word that his father was glad to 
hear. " Father, I truly meant to tell you all about it, 
but I thought I would wait until morning, because it 
would make you feel so badly ; but Emily said, tell 
you right away. And, father, I won't stop for any old 
parrot after this." — Young People. 



FOUR LITTLE SUNBEAMS. 

Four little sunbeams came earthward one day, 
Shining and dancing along on their way, 
Resolved that their course should be blest. 
"Let us try," they all whispered, "some kindness to do- 
Not seek our own pleasure all the day through — 
Then meet in the eve at the west." 



MISCELLANEOUS. 249 

One sunbeam went in at an old cottage door, 

And played hide-and-seek with a child on the floor, 

Till baby laughed loud in his glee, 
And chased with delight his strange playmate so bright^ 
The little hands grasping in vain for the light 

That ever before them would flee. 

One sunbeam crept to a couch where an invalid lay 
And brought him a gleam of a sweet summer day 

Its bird-song and beauty and bloom, 
Till pain was forgotten and weary unrest ; 
In fancy he roamed to the scenes he loved best, 

Far away from the dim, darkened room. 

One stole to the heart of a flower that was sad, 
And loved and caressed her until she was glad 

And lifted her white face again. 
For love brings content to the lowliest lot, 
And finds something sweet in the dreariest spot, 

And lightens all labor and pain. 

And one, where a little blind girl sat alone, 
Not sharing the mirth of her playfellows, shone 

On hands that were folded and pale ; 
Then kissed the poor eyes that had never known sight,. 
That had never gazed on the beautiful light, 

Till angels had lifted the veil. 

At last, when the shadows of evening were falling. 

And the sun, their great father, his children was calling^ ^- 

Four sunbeams sped into the west. i 

All said, " We have found that in seeking the pleasure 
Of others we 've filled to the full our own measure." 

Then softly they sank to their rest. 



He that does good to another does good also to 
himself, not only in the consequence, but in the very 
act ; for the consciousness of well-doing, is in itself 
ample reward. — Seneca, 



250 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



TEN TRUE FRIENDS. 

Ten true friends you have, 

Who, five in a row, 
Upon each side of you 

Go where you go. 

Suppose you are sleepy. 
They help you to bed ; 

Suppose you are hungry, 
They see that you 're fed. 

And these ten tiny fellows, 
They serve you with ease, 

And ask nothing from you. 
But try hard to please. 

Then with ten willing servants 

So trusty and true, 
Pray who would be lazy 

Or idle — would you? 



GOLDEN-ROD. 

Tell me, sunny golden-rod, 

Growing everywhere, 
Did fairies come from fairyland 

And make the dress you wear? 

Say, did you get from mines of gold 
Your bright and shining hue? 

Or did the baby stars some night 
Fall down and cover you ? 

Or did the angels flap their wings, 
And drop their glitter down 

Upon you, laughing golden-rod, 
Your nodding head to crown ? 



MISCELLANEOUS. 251 

Or are you clothed in sunshine caught 

From summer's brightest day, 
To give again in happy smiles 

To all who pass your way ? 

I love you, laughing golden-rod, 

And I will try, like you, 
To fill each (fay with deeds of cheer — 

Be loving, kind and true. — Our Little Ones. 



THE CHILDREN'S OFFERING. 

What shall little children bring 
As a grateful offering 

For the ever watchful care 

« 

That surrounds us everywhere ? 

Gathered in a happy fold, 
Safe from wintry want and cold, 
Fed by hands that never tire. 
Warmed at love's unfailing fire, 

Sheltered by protecting arms 
From the great world's sins and harms ; 
While a patience wise and sweet 
Guides our little wandering feet. 

Thou who hear'st the ravens call, 
Thou who see'st the sparrows fall, 
Thou who boldest safe and warm 
Lost lambs in thy tender arm ; 

Father ! dearest name of all, 
Bless thy children great and small. 
B-ich and poor alike are thine. 
Knit by charity divine. 

Willing hearts and open hands, 

Love that every ill withstands, 

Faith and hope in thee, our King — 

These shall be our offering. — Louisa M. Alcott. 



262 MISCELLANEOUS. 

THE THREE BOYS. 

There was once a poor man vv^ho had three boys, 
named Can't, Won't, and Try. They were very dif- 
ferent from one another, and you would scarcely have 
thought that they were brothers. 

Can't was a very idle boy, and a great coward. He 
was afraid to spring across a ditch, for fear he should 
tumble in. He was afraid to climb a tree, for fear he 
should fall down. 

When asked to do anything. Can't was sure to say 
he could not do it, though he might not have tried. 
It was just the same at school or in the play -ground. 
If he was asked a question, he would say, '^ I don't 
know." If he had to learn a lesson, he would say, 
" I can't do it." 

Won't was not idle, and he was not stupid ; but he 
had a bad temper, and was very stubborn. If he had 
made up his mind not to do a thing, you could not 
make him do it. 

If Won't was cross, the school-boys could not get 
him to play, no matter how much they begged him. 
If he wanted to play, he would not learn his lesson, 
even though he was sure to be punished for such bad 
conduct. 

Won't was not good at a game, for he wanted to 
have his own way in all things ; and he did not suc- 
ceed in his studies, as he would not do what he was 
told. In fact, he was disliked on account of his bad 
temper and his obstinate ways. 

Try was a very little fellow, and the youngest of 



MISCELLANEOUS. 253 

the three. But he had a brave heart, even if he was 
little ; and he was always ready to do what his parents 
and friends told him. 

If Try was asked if he could do any hard thing, he 
would say, " I don't know that I can do it, but I will 
try." Sometimes he would fail, of course, but almost 
alv/ays he was able to do what he tried to do. 

Once he tried to jump across a brook, but it was so 
wide that little Try fell into the water. Still, he did 
not cry. He made up his mind that, when he was a 
bit older, he would make a fresh trial ; and ere long 
he could spring over the brook in its widest place. 

"When Try first went to school, one of the teachers 
said, ^' Can you read ? " " I^o, sir,'' said he, " but I will 
try to learn." " That is all I ask," said the teacher ; 
^^ I want boys in my school who will try to learn." 

In a few months Try was at the head of his class. 
Can't was still at the foot of his, and Won't had gone 
down to the foot of his. Which do you think was the 
happiest of the three ? 

All three are grown men now. Can't is servant to 
a master named Must ; Won't is a soldier under Cap- 
tain Shall ; and Try is a partner in the great firm of 
Success & Company. 

"MISS POSITIVE. 

The girls called her that, because she was always so 
sure that she was right. Her real name was Ida. In 
Miss Hartley's school, the scholars each said a verse 
from the Bible every morning at prayers. One morn- 
ing, Ida had such a funny verse it made all the schol- 



254 MISCELLANEOUS. 

ars laugh ; and even Miss Hartley had to pucker her 
lips to keep a little sober. 

This was the verse, repeated in Ida's gravest tone : 

" It never rains but it pours." 

Now, all the girls knew enough about the Bible to 
be sure there was no such verse in it, except Ida. 
She was "just as sure it v/as in the Bible as she was 
that she had two feet ! " so she said ; " and, if they 
didn't believe it, they might ask Miss Hartley." 

So at recess they all asked Miss Hartley at once : 

"Miss Hartley, is there such a verse?" "Miss 
Hartley, there isn't, is there?" 

And Miss Hartley had to say that, so far as she had 
read the Bible or heard it read, she certainly never 
had heard any such verse in it. 

But Miss Positive was not convinced. She shook 
her pretty brown head, and said she couldn't help it, 
it was in the Bible — in the Book of Proverbs, and she 
could bring the book to school and show them. 

Miss Hartley said this would be the very best thing 
to do. So the next day came Ida, looking pleased 
and happy, with a little bit of a book in her hand, 
and pointing her finger in triumph to the verse in 
large letters : 

" It never rains but it pours." 

" But, dear child," said Miss Hartley, " don't you 
know that isn't a Bible?" 

" Oh, yes, indeed," said Ida : " it is out of the Bible, 
every word of it. Don't you see it says ^Proverbs' 
on the cover ? Everybody knows that Proverbs is in 
the Bible." 



MISCELLANEOUS. 255 

Then the girls all laughed again ; and Miss Hartley 
explained that the book was a collection of the wise 
sayings of different men, and that they were called 
proverbs, because they had so much meaning in them 
and were used so much. 

After a good deal of talk, Ida had to own that she 
was mistaken, and that there wasn't a word of the Bible 
in her book from beginning to end. Then, how her 
naughty little playmates teased her ! 

At the play-hour they buzzed around her like so 
many mosquitoes, and giggled and asked her if she 
^^got caught in the rain,'' an.d " if it poured hard to- 
day,'' and ever so many other silly things that they 
seemed to think were funny. 

Ida stood it very well. At last she said : 

" I've got a verse for to-morrow that is surely in 
the Bible. Uncle Ed found it for me : ^ Set a watch, 
O Lord, before my mouth ; keep the door of my lips 
shut.' And, girls, in spite of all your teasing, I am 
going to try to keep the door shut." Then all the 
owners of those naughty tongues slipped away, one 
by one, looking ashamed. It wasn't the thing to say 
so much just about a mistake. — Christian Standard. 



A USEFUL ERRAND. 



Bertie is a little boy who had a bad way of saying, 
" I don't care." One day, Aunt Nell said to him^ 
'^ Bertie, will you do an errand for me ? " 

" Oh, yes, ma'am ! " cried Bertie : '^ what is it ? " 



556 MISCELLANEOUS. 

" Take your naughty ' donH care ' away up in the 
garret and hide it.'^ 

Bertie laughed, and then looked sober. Then he 
said^ " I will, Auntie Nell.^^ And away he ran. 

I think he must have hidden it very carefully, for 
he hasn't found it yet. — Christian Observer, 



Little drops of rain brighten the meadows, and little acts of kindness 
highien the world. 

EACH CAN DO SOMETHING. 

What if the little rain should say, 

" So small a drop as I 
Can ne'er refresh those thirsty fields; 

I'll tarry in the sky." 

What if the shining beam of noon 

Should in its fountain stay; 
Because its single light alone 

Can not create a day. 

Does not each raindrop help to form 

The cool, refreshing shower ? 
And every ray of light, to warm 

And beautify the flower ? 

Then let each child its influence give, 

O Lord, to truth and thee ; 
So shall its power by all be felt, 

However small it be. 



